It’s all for grabs, we’re all in traps, the uncivilized are book-eating leaves who quaff as beasts in a treasure hunt. Leaves, hollow lies, hear their shrieks, leaves creep me out, might creep out on you. If you think they won’t steal what's left of kindness when most needed, shivering, foolishly, they will. Innocence too blind, too fluffy, is idiocy. Arrogance kills intelligence, yet they think smart, only shortsighted they can’t think bright. If all is up for grabs, when will we get back what suspiciously they bloated sell? Leaves leave dirty streets, blame winds and people who shout: No to treasure hunt! Careless, they grab even more as if no one cared, vengeance for their troubles, you must know that it’s quite an effort to steal “law” the fully, power grabbing leaves: our fate is bloody, not because you’ll die but because you kill and don’t care who dies. Eventually, we’ll fix your bloody mess. Too late! Perhaps. We’ll try to foil more untimely deaths, but remember petty minded leaves: Whatever money lets you hold, whatever memories dear you hold, means zero if you don’t understand what honor and devotion do to heal dissatisfaction.