The youthful face of joy.
I see the hands of a clock.
The wooden fences around the farmhouse.
The theme for tonight's dance is macabre.
Windows sneer with contempt.
A sinister, jovial and anxious parade
I see truth, baked in the sun.
Crushed beneath the feet of hard working men. I feel afraid of sunlight.
I can be so easily blinded. I can hear a crunch.
Joy's hands wrap around the apple tree
She doesn't give fruit she takes it.
My, what a nice day it is outside.
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