O’ Praise The Old Hag

Someday I dimmer shrink

May my soul ringing

to the frail pillar grimace

through age that leave a summer breeze

Be still my dear (the only bug on my branch of red Mahoney)

A warfare against moment that colonize our breath and dream

Haven’t we scheming through cradle of evening

For the sake O’ warrior, sons and daughters

That grew out of our glorious sin

Lo Realm that take us to the battlefield!

How they could be shielded

by the wound Thy thrive?



How mournful, the gravel who wished at clouds to embrace the mount bloom

Nothing, yet gray blobs would blown by the weather’s betray

Unless mist in every steep

uncertainty kisses…

Thy sue a slumber, a tyrant  present

Aware the early air petrifies thy a mortal cry

It’s tantamount of breath a thousand guillotine

My Lord! So a tortured concord!

Awaken thy a burden wraith

Lest O’ quietus nay differ than the joy of life