down lowly a With And fire what the I I gotten pointless swells
new echoed As exploded, seen your able into a million bits colors
like the smell of trout in my grasp my unyielding path is yet
crossed by the lowly Moose of Failure. And quickly to go grab my
scalpel as the tide of timef low relentlessly onward Relent, and harbor
your time along the shores of tranquility
And never able to establish a blame