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The Soul of The Mind
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Old Unrefined Material Without elegance does the river of time flow.
And without this eternal thing that glows,
Here we find ourselves without a seat in time.
Wherein does this lay, but within the rhyme,
The one set to our heart, forever blowing.
Spoken words lost to the sea of tears,
Forever falling into the sky that rears.
Hell upon earth, something dark and dismayed,
It is found apart from from the hayed?
Laughing at the will of men,
Stuck in this life so setted as a pen.
We are without the minds of truth,
For that is when we find our cuth.
