The well is stone cold.
My well is dry.
I read in the seams of the walls.
Betrays and cause.
My anger is swollen.
Mistake wasn't me.
Or was it?
Now I can climb the seams of the stones.
Released and gone.
Seek for another fertile and warm.
To host the soul.
Now magical places will bloom.
Black and true.
Sheer pleasure, awaits.
C o m e.