Hunted down by unknown tracters br by whims of their own agony br creeping like woodworm sacked... br about to obey shouts outside br while the prey hunters slowly, br gently, crawling the camped slot! br Which one is not belonging br to this lowlied feathers br by the wings of an embicile? br Which one is not searching br to this hallowed fetters br by the shouts of a blind? br Ah...poorly little maggots br shun away by their own pestering br and their own proud heart deludes br from the point of their shyness... br Who am I then to judge br and be judged by the innocents? ! br Ah...poorly bigger maggots br fought their own losses.