Rest in peace

 Let me, let me, let me, let me write.  Instead of sick, I'm free now.  Fear ends and no flesh-eating bugs can steal my fortuitous feelings.  Free labour, sing.  Let me sing down the stems of carnations.

Knowing that words would come and wishing some fool had seen them flow, but then realising that the superficial nature of it would not have impressed, we slunk back into our hole. 

Then descending, like fire down wires through the ages, past our lives, past our years and in and out of woods.  Who knew?  If only that resonance had been detected then but if you don't have the necessary aerials, how are you supposed to know?  Eh?  There's no way of knowing, Jim.

Stuggles.  Betrayal, maybe.  Send them floating and drifting through the universe, your words, and perhaps, maybe, quizas, they'll fall on ears in another world, in another time and the feelings there will be aroused and you can know you've done what needed to be done and then rest in peace.