VOLUME XV: Reuse
The harshness of a season’s change marks the end of micro-eras, Frivolous remnants are discarded as age creeps through their veins.
That’s the tragedy of the leaves, The dead ferns, the dead plants; growth, lushness and vitality have been replaced by decay, dryness, and death.
You have to die a few times before you can really live.
The abyss is waiting for the thing that has lost its use. It has open arms that greet with warmth. The only avoidance is that of reuse, to reincarnate a soul, to turn yellow leaves green and dim rooms bright.
Re-use, prevent the tragedy of the leaves.
The harshness of a season’s change marks the end of micro-eras, Frivolous remnants are discarded as age creeps through their veins.
That’s the tragedy of the leaves, The dead ferns, the dead plants; growth, lushness and vitality have been replaced by decay, dryness, and death.
You have to die a few times before you can really live.
The abyss is waiting for the thing that has lost its use. It has open arms that greet with warmth. The only avoidance is that of reuse, to reincarnate a soul, to turn yellow leaves green and dim rooms bright.
Re-use, prevent the tragedy of the leaves.
The harshness of a season’s change marks the end of micro-eras, Frivolous remnants are discarded as age creeps through their veins.
That’s the tragedy of the leaves, The dead ferns, the dead plants; growth, lushness and vitality have been replaced by decay, dryness, and death.
You have to die a few times before you can really live.
The abyss is waiting for the thing that has lost its use. It has open arms that greet with warmth. The only avoidance is that of reuse, to reincarnate a soul, to turn yellow leaves green and dim rooms bright.
Re-use, prevent the tragedy of the leaves.