Slapped senseless day one then swaddled in sleep, do you know who, what, why, when or where you dream?
Come many, come many, come many, come one to a realm that sits beyond hell unseen, where snakes shake hands dipped in pockets of poison.
And under the milk sky a brass band play tacit, and even a poet forgets to write.
To understand how truth sits above our received wisdom, see the prince of the power of the air spin his lie over this earth.
He knows your days here number no more than a breath.
CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh
2 Corinthians 4:4 - KJV