Back and forth, you'll stand for anything that looks nice. And you know, it's all a game to play in that empty space, that sympathetic shrine. And I'm ranting; my apologies. Stay in place. Keep your face. It's something worth keeping straight. And you show, showed almost everything we keep so sure, so sacred not even I should say a word. Yet I'm ranting, and I'm sorry. And you're coming around. Tell me more when you feel that sound. It's in a way a birthed decay; something not complete. I'll ask this once, not to play but alternate. I don't want to be right, if not for stimulation. You're looking so strong, yet you move to-and-fro. Is this a joke? Because I don't feel like laughing. I'm coming around. Don't you recognize that's something?
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