Convulsive state away from files of tricks they hide from our unholy eyes.
We start to home these stalks and wicked unread books whose sun will burn those lies.
All rise to the hum of sadness and sighs.

Emulsive state in play I see no need to hide from their unworthy eyes.
I start to slur my talks and vivid unsaid thoughts whose sun will burn those ties.

The false side of hope, back up your soul.