all the trill is blind and still
it warns me
it warns

furthermore, awakening
I can fling my fair-weather friend
quicksand is hard to leave daintily
lost to flawed intent

hope the fear will swallow you
mortified, choking on your hair
while little me rows merrily down the stream
poison fills the air

melancholic melody comforts me
thrown out from the flood
evidence evaporates
confiscates source of toxic blood

hope the hurt will hollow you
left behind when the sirens sound
while little me feels feathery
hopefully feet will find the ground

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