Molten-molded, ripped up from rock vein, now cold a moment, oxidized, gear rust-buckled to big crunch... then they tell me it's here because it is... like aleatoric verso, and the binding on the spine is but a face on the moon...

But there's a sore thumb among the brute: A life laid down

I crave you -the way you see
I will rebuild you from my memory

Now we build with rubber bands and coffee cans; stale-bread-burned-wood monuments. Her tiny hands move biggеr things than any machine I've seen! Therе's something there! And there's something here! And for what light still shines I wish to give up all else I've seen

I crave you the way -the way you see
We will rebuild it from our dreams

I watched them build with hardened sand... and like an hourglass it ran... Well I... I pulled a knife from her hand! I've read the charts on stars we know I watched the bills on finches grow (And sometimes shrink.) But not a single one of them can explain to me (with some clarity.)
The One who does good to those that do 'em wrong! They say the patterns only inner-need, outwardly-perceived... Well then wouldn't something, somewhere mean SOMETHING then

... if I'm in need?!

"We will rebuild it from our dreams."