Skies and scarsnalways catch the eyenI have drifted offnhow could Ina temperatenempty tenamentnis an endless seanfor such castawaysnnmoments passnI am cold and stillnI am fixed upon nthese handsnthe world is chargednwith a fear of Godntheres a penalty nfor such innocencennyou can always have whats leftnyou can always have whats leftnyou can always have nwhats left of the momentnnnow and thennthrough these sentimentsnI can almost seenthe linesnthe starting gatenis a dream for somentheres a fantasynfor each motorcarnnyou can always have whats leftnyou can always have whats leftnyou can always have whats nleft of the momentnndont see the linesnI only read betweennlike broken butterfliesnjudged by Godnand I can liveninside of this mcahinentheres identity nbeyond these batteriesnnyou can always have whats leftnyou can always have whats leftnyou can always have whats nleft of the momentnn