Going through my book of lies,
I go through many and donít pry.
I fall behind the yellow line and fish below the grey ground, wondering when infinity put me here, telling me its own story page after page.
As I look back on each and every line my heart turns, a future left to wrong;
The floundersí field and their bodies with red blood flowers risk the dusk to present us with moonlit darkness.
The white flags are now raised, their pertaining lies folding briskly in the wind as someone peers too closely.
Distraction marred by throwing fools gold in an opposing direction; one by one their feet will befall the red blood flowers.
Cold clicked teeth resound in the fields, tombstones turned overseas and more gold is unearthed.
Feasting their eyes on the treasures of now: the immortal memory of remains.