Refuse to trace that History.
Plucking each seed of doom,
From appropriate times or places,
Held in loose sleeves.
Saving others,
By collecting them all for myself.
Using but one,
To grow black briars,
Who climb upwards.
Red berries.
Brambles full of barbed black thorns,
That’ll hold the sky aloft.
Brambles Full Of Barbed Black Thorns, That’ll Hold The Sky Aloft.
