Names to be.

It’s like the lights, all glowed out, British red to your faces, hidden, beyond, traps, and locks, in
All the recourses you’re finding out into, believes in for moments, that are still being negotiated,
It’s always not really much a bother, anyways, and those places all covered in leaves, broken blacked,
And hidden, are still to be battled over, harder, then the ones, you pluck from the sky, it’s like that river,
We can’t really cross, in our thoughts, flashing, or over it, it’s still there, before us, right here before our feet, always leading towards the bends that
may seem closer, but it’s always just as far, walking around near, fearing the lights might go out, so take your few, and so, wondering, will be one
day, all that we fought over.