One has the strength to undo a being of goodness,
Inside this islet of morons and religions we see the rest.
A little play cannot undo the cost of living,
Feeling a dedication, feeling like most people.
But distinctions rely on the feeding frenzy,
Opening the doors of a somebody who relaxes
And moans for the long lost partner,
A ready actor and composer of short stories,
The real written pleaser, with pens and ink.
In this fame we derive a pleasant feeling,
That swerves and permeates the inner walls,
With the prisons to keep a mania and a drive.
One shall prevail and one shall deceive,
Investigating a love of the heart that feeds
A frolicking existence.
What impact does love possess
In this minute prison?
Is there the nature of love that we have
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