The scourge of the foraging urge is a maker of ladies
Down in the solid waste lay the optimist’s relics to be frozen over
Seal your blessed fate
Seal the door they’re coming with ridiculous eyes and with ridiculous laughter
Weapons pointed towards the ridiculous fear of the ones that they’re after
Guard your precious space
Guard your precious hair from the threatening breezes and the dark that they carry
Warm your empty frame with the dirtiest articles you stumble across
Avoid the coming wave