The sweet nectar of socialities, Controverting our states of nothing Without skins that stand as enmities Inflates our sound of something. Every seductive prowess of hate And the ephemerality of love. Like the drop of the bland soil berate A fracas of dippy dove. Limning as memories, the insignificance of these Then why does it count? If all is just a piece. In silence there's wisdom... But it pays to snow our song. For what shall make a kingdom? If not war and trade for long.