The fear is poetry,
Said my crow.
And feathers were running away from it.
An island of non-sense,
Do I make any sense?!
The crow asked me
And flew away from me.
It left me with horns
And spikes
And trembles.
No pieces of tomorrow,
I’m just cloathed in sorrow.

Please ignore my vegetative state. I did listen to the new HURTS album all day long, but now my interest shifted towards IAMX and I Come With Knives and Noblesse Oblige and all the decadent sounds in my life.