These broken bits do not tell any story.
Say they do not get well along with each other.
They murmur quietly to them as they go with the day.
Everything is uncertain and unanswered.
They and the Gods seem mutually done with each other.
This jail has got their cruel comfort, confined.
They don’t have the hero who can save them.
Save for the hope which slogs them day and night.
Their simple faces do not have the crux of a good life.
The essence is grief has not captured them.
But the regularity of their common notions fails them,
As to why they can’t tell from need and want.