---

all the trill is blind and still

it warns me

it warns

furthermore, awakening

I can fling my fair-weather friend

quicksand is hard to leave daintily

lost to flawed intent

hope the fear will swallow you

mortified, choking on your hair

while little me rows merrily down the stream

poison fills the air

melancholic melody comforts me

thrown out from the flood

evidence evaporates

confiscates source of toxic blood

hope the hurt will hollow you

left behind when the sirens sound

while little me feels feathery

hopefully feet will find the ground