The bedroom on which I sleep
The roof on which I gaze
And the fireplace in which I burn
I am your commodities
This candelabra won’t last
We’re all lost in the woods
To put it lightly, we’re all saints
And an ounce of wandering can yield hefty sums/returns
So keep it clean, Mr. Doolittle
Keep it static
Let abundance fill you and destroy you so you are born anew
The phoenix inside.
