Surrender, voluntarily death to live, to God.
Stirring battles, conflict, chest still puffed out, discreet but exposed using old maps.
I want control, I want, I want, I want to to be control of everything but can not manage myself.
Sins volley, flesh grenades, viewpoints from redeemable emotional zombies preaching graves.
Hive mind, swarms, wolves crying asking for hugs promising we’ll stay warm. Demonic charms.
Look at me, often bothered with revenue requirements, higher than the main mission.
See. Stormy sea. Banjo in me. Picking as I settle down, walk ahead vacating doubt, there’s too much to do.
Only one fire promotes growth, his eyes penetrate all, on his side hope or believe in fog with its wondering.
Mumbling haughty nothings for nothing concluding an arrival at brilliance to find empty boxes once thought as treasure, proved incorrect miscalculated measures.