The sound of the nightmare in the mind of the people
The wond of the mind, the life of the weeping, the life of the pestilence.
Those of us who are children through dumadev with a pesky heart
The heat coming from the pestilence drops the scent of the paradigm
We are the Touch- the remnant of the pestilence
The great people hides we are
Holidays, the mind of the people who are in the throns of death in the mind of the pestilence.
The death knell of ours by Coronaa.
