Fear not the turbulence when the ill wind’s blow, It categorizes the chronological will in life’s ebb and flow.
Within these woeful accounts willful hearts will confirm all doubts, despite the naked truths being volleyed about.
The serpent’s kiss you’ll never hear a hissing tongue that concedes to none, will even bite for fun.
You’ll feel that sting of the pinching claw, the crab people pulling you back if you want more.
In this wreckage of waste I anticipate the rejection of my case when haters lack grace, tripping the zebra when the cheetah chase.