I can make wood sing with my hands, tie it up with strings and tell truths about who I am, I doubt you could do what I can, turn accounts of former brothers and lovers into cathartic scripture.

Strange what you'll find if you just open your mind to things you’ve never felt like seeing before, A, Pandora’s box, completely covered in locks, which is concealed beneath swept carpeted floors.

Anticipation is the tip of the ice, the short sharp breath before a plunge in the pool, shooting me daggers with their shadowy eyes, resist temptation to retort and be cool or you might as well just, lose yourself, ‘cause it’s the only thing that one can do if blind go one and lose yourself and become just another pawn on the board.

Take these pictures, ‘cause you need them more, so you remember, who you are.

Dressed up in leather they're like birds of a feather with the vixens who take hold of the night, under the covers they perform like no other guaranteed to satisfy till suffice.

Seem's you've mistaken that it's there for the taking as you set your mind to plans of attack, with no, thoughts to defend and failure to comprehend, the counter currently exposing your back, four.

You might as well just, lose yourself, ‘cause it’s the only thing that one can do if blind go on and lose yourself and become just another pawn on the board.

Take these pictures, 'cause you need them more, so you remember, who you are.

Do you remember who you are?