crude lines were made. but i don't trust the way i fill the space. and i don't trust the way you spill the ink. for space is pure amid our vanity. true eyes are a wade. composure beyond zephyr sway. let tides crash up until your knees. let the sky's tears change what you see. nothing stayed the same. pure eyes lost to a harlot's gaze. how is one able to love the world? how can one love such crude lines?