Empty not of water’s best of so called days, nor of the gold that came my way, never to pass.

Words coming from their chest least heart, meant nothing to me, unless the so called buck came beyond good luck.

To take them for my own, and stomach them yes, and then move on without regret.

Oh heartless, foolish wanderer so they may have called me at best, but they couldn’t take the words from off my chest, least digest.

Look and gaze up hither younder’s best, waiting and wanting to speak. Listen to me out-right, and be not of yourselves as still.

Followers yes, of not even my empties best, chest to chest, heart to heart, words accepted as different than I ever meant them to come to be.

To come to this lock-up beyond thy bird of nest, entangled beyond that of nature’s twigs best.

Who but I could come to such so called greatness, so I once did think. Empty Yes, Empty-Empty, and all for the best.

Once of the so called more, and then split opened beyond blood’s best so called test, but no soul then had I best.

Split and now, nothing inside to eat me away, of them or me, for what worth is one’s so called greatness, without character of soul’s best.

The look not out for me, nor seek to find. Stone unto empty stone of graven image best have I not come to be.

One is enough of graven image alone, but for them I fear, that they may more appear within the shell of stone, should they come to worship beyond so called graven images best or not!

How does one escape beyond bird of “Egg Shell’s” best least even stone, beyond the bomb shell, as embombed alive, of soul’s never knowing, “Is this Hell to pay”?

Chest to chest, deed by deed, walk by walk, alive of soul’s best of days, that you are,”So as to, even be concerned, “of Hell to pay”.

No empty voice in the wind, best left empty blow by blow, are you. Not of they once were but yet still called alive by some.

Angel of the wind, know’s where empty begin’s, hope can be offered best, beyond that of stone. I can’t turn the wind into a graven image, as it’s power comes too strong beyond mans-hands best. Graven image or not, grave unto grave’s best after perhaps, made from graven image of once past but now turned into grave stone best alone dead of rots stench smell of success best, where success goes beyond empty and can’t bite even my soul that’s still as left.

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