Be on your way, way beyond the locks of timely and rook, to curb in light of everlasting continuum, or rudimentary for the caw of humanity.

Today they revoke them blades of quill and poet, surrounding by times of travel, a respite the emerald of matte, quietly returning to faults they fracture in dreams, where loosely gems are garnish for words of splendid, to earthly cold, held with mistrust.

Supine in looks, beyond chariots of spinning whit, they cleft in times of constructing dreams, hours misty fourfold quarters, the sprig to reel they way bound by the inertia, ones homely emerald eyes.

Citrus singed the air, the album cover reflect youthful despair, streaming degrees, blacken jewels rest on reflection, words they sound indifferent to my measly of rook, a flint to expression, lazy and bound for the caw.

2021 Adam Blewett ©