The soul is no longer honored as it once was, but it still keeps appetite from being the measure of all things.
Mild brown eyes beckon me to the past, but memory provides no clue.
Rage against the world, if you like, but quietly, or the Guardians will awake.
Boredom strives to detach, but finds itself stuck.
Malice is always authentic and sincere.
Moo may represent an idea, but only the cow knows.