If viruses could light up, bright up like the 4th of July or a proud peackock or the Northern sky,
Over my humble home, i would then use my linen and lime and wipe it off like a stain on the wall or the spill on the floor.
Those pesky things, hiding in plain site, without hands yet they write a history I refuse to be mine.
Why do I have to die to the rythm of the living dead, with no eyes to even pretend to tell lies?
Stay where you are, don't come home with me, coz I will light you up, bright like my fathers light.
Then there is no hope for you.
O.T.O
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