 Listen up, listen up. We talking about sorrow. Beg is still or emotionally borrowed from insufficient counts of tears that amount to less than the price of old barrel aged feral sages pulled from pages of long lost homes while those at home grind bones for politics of dashed hopes and unknowns. From alphanumerics tattered to flash shadows casted, indelible levels of apartheid lights thrown, napalm ashes and salty sea splashes from the massacre of mermaids silenced by chains.