Too weak to cry.
Too shy to fly.
His lips has been stained with oiled lies.
Heaviness fits his heart.
Heaviness grooms his heart.
Who pulverised the lips of our stentorian groom.
Take away his heart! he can't even man his love.
He might be good for the yard.
Hand him a broom.
Thought or depth!
He has a phobia for height.
over there is evil,
descending an unfathomable climax.
He wavers with an eyes Illumed with fright.
Lazy to climb!
Tales about his fathers lies in the belle of the earth.
Come over let's check this obsolete gallery.
The old paintings of his mother now fades.
He has a lot in here,