Sheilding my face with my very means of survival
The very weapons abused, left to rot through to the bone, Just one foot from equaling the six below
Deaf / defeated, where peace of mind tightens it's grip among a smoldering variable
Hell
Vomiting
A few personal unnamed choruses of goodwill toward man that I have left
Dusting my finger prints
The caskets of the ill-taxed still withering in opposition, regardless of past lessons, proving the human condition and it's remains kept at my side