At an Ice shop, lacking the finishing touch, tepid water I have.
The mediocrity, to make his influence, getting the generations of his grandchildren.
Under the night light, the wayside pebble, to acknowledge the value of. Or, the night light, the wayside pebble, to acknowledge the value of.
On rewinding, thread of memories, scorched colour on.
From the steeple, surveying far away, an eye of the cadaver.