Bad people and me in life, death, and rebirth.
The wind’s will wishes you not. For it switches you ever which way it would blow. You point past the peaks and say go.
It makes shapes of scapes and says no. 
You work and prod and pull and full, you say ho! But then the sails for which your rails were meant to fill, now fall with no frill and you say, oh.
You work and prod and pull and full, you say ho! But then the sails for which your rails were meant to fill, now fall with no frill and you say, oh.Left chaste, debased, with cause to erase the chase and the case you held against your own wind of sin and sorrow sown, you blow and blare into the air in hopes that you might know. Now freed to peace in pieces and ceased you then begin to grow.
What shapes and scapes that rapes the fate of places which we go? Too many names are there that blow the air and cheat its mighty row. I’ll keep attention in one direction and tell you when I know. Or keep an eye upon the sky until then when I go.
Then say what’s fore, belief found core, and un-envelope once more.
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Space and Spots
Space and Spots. For you just dots. But please let me play.
Space and Spots. To you just plots. But please let me stay.
Space and Spots. In you it rots. I can’t just walk away.
Space and Spots. Perhaps like knots. Can unravel it you say?
Space and Spots. It in no way nots. You are here another day.
Space and Spots. With your pans and pots. May we feast without delay.