The dark alley to the unknown,
And the woods, fake and tangible
Stare as a substitute scenery.
The blares and the black sludge,
Roil the puddles of life.
What a waste of beauty,
The globe has ever been
Furtherance of control
Over the genesis of the Divine-
Cripple the spectacle outdoors.
Yet, the occasional drops from Heaven
Reform the material sight
The only thing being natural
Are the droplets on the glass.