The soul is rasped by the raucous winds of pointed stones, Scythed in such tiny perforated holes That no light

passes through, yet the sun shines such brazenly It blinds all faith but feeds the zilch hope drape the black curtains on the window of conscience wrap the heart in mud and put it in the cold freezer dowse the fire, throw some water in the belly because it is so, now it will never rain in my soul again because it is so, that I will never dream again.