A façade's tomb will curse you with despise, cries, and bruising lies. Some sees it as a price, prize, or an ultimate sacrifice. That will suffice into and upon the unruly world. We hurl at the idea of greatness so we coerce it into its ow grave. Lowered into a cave no light has touched, if so, you may as we leave a hush. That much can fill an abyss in your mind, unwind into seismic silhouettes, find yourself in torn cassettes. Placing bets on an uncanny ride while the tide rises up your pride, you will suddenly realize that everything and anything at once shall collide. With no guide, your eyes will shiver at the sight of truth ad all you think of is a casket and a suit. Like a brute the storm will serenade familial woes, and shows that emotions only grow once everything is lower. They shall hover over your corpse, by luck would they lend an escort as you live the world of a mute and leave the world you only know. Tows you lower and colors one by one left the corners of your sight. You are now enraptured by plight.
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