Drained Maniacal Deserts

I tried to a walk yesterday but then I had a sudden realization  
It was that I was a mortal Raphael you loved to imagine trees after a decaying swansong  
It was a case I could not even figure out  
 
Am I going to die from P.S.R?  
Something that I was told does not stand for "Perfect Sectarian Resistance"  
I could sing "Chimes of Freedom" and burn it with the soul of pontrock's own Bashlachev but it can't fully Burn after it has spoken with Josephine as she handles her internal-bodily nails quite well underneath a Painting's blood that depicts a flower blooming underneath a beautifully-painted blackened sun because That's All that matters, right? That's all that matters  
The wonders of the colors, the blue sky, the running river that can't be criticized to keep you from Hazing yourself in front of  
People with computerized books in your pocket  
 
You speak with such...I don't even know  
I wasn't born to understand speech with a word count that must be  
Met not exceeded.