Irrilevant Senses
Rising Moon
Continues after the ad
My sight has altered
the raw heat, leaves me without breath
my face laughs
my hearth cries
pushed by the odor
estranged by life
my skin talks to them
the cold winds of his earth
they clean my rough face
the turbid heat of his star
Continues after the ad
I don't have the gift
but, I can understand what the say
don't really do it some things
you reflect
and you think that what the say
only irrelevant senses
I can stay
I can say what they tell me.