the day begins with roses- sunlight cities, fields and seas from year dot thru till doom- from year dot to now- the day curtails with ashes- the wind playing in lightening trees from year dot thru till doom, from year dot to now, all to a flowing rhythm as terrifying as a heart beating thru, and beating you; such a crazy machination that our crazed imagination thirst and look for truths, clutch at truths that butterfly around- ah, as old as the hills the mountains until the day the sun dies and darkens- from year dot thru till doom-from year dot till now.