Playing down a furrowed lined incased in head br is unmade bed all windows br to a soul. br br Lifting shoulders burdens would not dare to try br and carry on this path of thorns whom br say they care. br br Anology compares your mind to theirs grace br fares a better plate to rest my slice br of bread your host. br br Yellow morning sun a cloud to bank the wisom br of some ink the pages would all br play a part this day. br br Solitude of moonless shine thine sureal would br you find a clearing seamless br mist now dine.