Trembling through the silicone vignette of your vision, the roots remain breathless to offer retribution,

sight is not sound.

Look there!

Lord have mercy!

The dam of resentment came tumbling down onto the nation's banks,

I just want to dance, And to sing,

mister Flask, we've weaved ourselves perfect and can't lift a finger, yearning for a jump-scare

Webo, why do you tremble, Webo?

it was made of stone, of stone, stone, marble