Bad Times by Jeremy Matthews

Where pain is a foot and treachery an arm on a clock rotating its dismal counterpart of apathy to step apart in pain. This is where disdain shall reign and an ass shall have clear vision yet but I smell the trick of it as discombobulated is the time out of tune whereas is the prime foul stench seething being is the stench ruining a wench to triumph in pity and pluck the crown from the ripening time in the hour of decline? The words were not constant born in eternal beginning for the rising of the becoming will not stand for such pity mongering