There is no shortage of benefits
You and I were short
Dry and withered and
We were bent to the ground
There is no shortage of things to say
You and I said little.
Like the delirium of death
From the beginning, we said such a mess
There is no shortage of sights
You and I saw little
Lack of Reason Since Autumn
We asked about the birthplace of the acacia
There is no shortage of pickups
You and I picked up a little
Its time for love to flower on the carpet
We were afraid to even throw a rose for no reason
There is no shortage of readings
You and I read a little
You and I are the simplest form of composing in the passage of the wind
We stayed with our mouths closed
You and I were short
You and I, but in the squares
Now we are reading
We see as much as we see
We arrange as much as we
We say as much as we do.
We grow as much as we do.
