This is my voice rising.

"We have a problem with no solution, but to love, and to be loved."
"If you'll bring the poison, I'll bring the remedy."

I'm a clay bowl forgotten in the cold.
The robbery of my usefullness is pending on our neighbour, Frost.


What are beginnings, if not a means for their own end?

Gradual temperature raises from the inside out -body heat.
Where does all of the magic go?
Is anything safe now?
Who puts out the fires, and is that really what we want?



Why can no one answer my questions?
When will someone really try?



Yes, everything is connected here.
I might sound pathetic, but aictaitts iwtsswlfffsdmi.
mysjlmc, n, itinsotlom ahomh kismfa tmyn.

End.