Borrow sorrow, neat flat salamander,

toad soup in tears on a writers blocking,

green powder for the accidental flier,

and demon flirt for cowardice.

Black Aces and red kings,

and all of the purple beings,

in shout for me,

and for every sister soul looking for redemption.

Sneaky spiders and weblings,

and all of the worms,

silk my hands,

so I can write my future,

in a past that was written itself.

Scales, skins and scalps,

and any other animated mask,

don't cover the laughter,

so joy can flow in rivers,

and rivers flow in happy tears.

Eyes of an oracle, every prophet's finger,

and the primitive sages tail,

embody the alliance,

of those bodies hanging in trees,

their ropes made by their words,

and their words were made of destruction.

Don't forget the salt we're,

and the glass of our eyes,

every future soil painted violet,

every future skies tainted by the caress of pink clouds.

Faceless being, nameless be and continue,

but carry the pain away,

and don't hide it under my bed.

Selfless horse, carry on.

Headless scorpion, bury the past as past and don't paint it present.

Or I will fall again.