By corn, being provided a breath of southern air, it swings.
On the spire, to stick by vinyl, to follow others blindly. Or, on the spire, to stick by vinyl, lightnings strike others.
To said you may go in, the man have no retreat, flying a kite.
At the heat of the day, also sunburn corpses, turning over.
To wipe my sweat, and blow, on a pinwheel.