Wondering mind, thumping heart, I grow tired of this mental grind. Strolling, stumbling, crawling, weary of folly and failure. The wolves of Yin and Yang collide rippling rippling rippling, forming waves of hysteria. From one grows to two, from two to ten, ten drops to two and back again. Why ignore that there are ever more? Why contemplate further while in the midst of this state?
The juices of abstraction flow beautifully upon chariots from orbs of the night to morn. The beauty that streams far beyond while under the world’s weight, though cognition hefty and bright fails to act while under the light.
Thus dousing those flames with ice and dismay that forever and ever pry away. Though beneath the frost a twinge of fright, rolling on under the formidable night; though as it rolls on there bequeaths a cinder; scarlet and brown. Ah, this cinder, a sparkle of lights, far outclassing those fearful nights.
A sound of uproar quaking ol’ Gaea a hero of secrets, of virtue and right, broke through the clouds and stormed through the night. “Tis is I sir, Marius of Elysium,” pondering of sweet glory and will, scrapping and scratching at me she is still.
With a sword of quill and words made of liquid so clear, I challenge thy labors to a battle of bets. Within our contest, we toss and we turn, hoping for advancement, but all that's affected is my aigrette
Before we end I solemnly swear, I will fight and bleed to my last breath and, though you with your ever spawning heads; I will be victorious and yell, “I am Invictus!"
