Ropes may burn your skin.
Thick as a skull,
twisted as a sin.

Plenty to fill a position,
if you're pleased with its skin.
To take part in revelation,
to be King, is not the end.

Many walls, early years.
Many hills, later valleys.
Not many entries to descipher your galaxy.

Take part in which the sand destroys your land.
Or which is it I stand tall and noble to place my hand upon your name.
I have not undesrtood many vowels you speak.
Nor which I want to with hold any movements I may keep.

All which and every who, I'm misplaced.
and my appearance is of those who flow while I move.
If it keeps my secrets, the net will drop.
I do as it says and to that I will not drop.

You may place your hand upon the ground,
your gown, I will not forget.
The way it lied upon the dirt
as your steps were a sin.
To me you face, with a face of love.

To my body you took, or of that,
I misplaced.
you took my yours, as mine yours took.
I don't remember my sentences
as if my words you misunderstood.

I can't pull back my curtain,
it's dropped, as you can tell.
So if you must, skin me back like an onion,
my secrets are foreced to be of tell
that I always misunderstood.