It waits a moment. It comes to me. It's callming. It chills. The wait. It adds. It almost thrills. It breeds. It dies. It sometimes breeds the lies. It's a harpsichord. It dreams at night. It almost gulps. It lends to life. It's only a second, a dream away. A whisper of waiting. It's also fades. It feels so good. It runs... away. The Trinity spouts that it's okay. I never dream of battles and I wish for none...