The nerve of them taking the dough from the bread if I had my desire I'd paint with her head cleanly severed and beautified like the silence in a wake leaving room for error your final mistake But chaos leaves nothing, and no one, nowhere if you had it your way we would rest right there never progressing,de- stressing, immutable the lines of the canvas forever refutable we are poison injected into their hearts sometimes it makes it so hard to start..