The light like a painting on Fried...

The light like a painting on Friedrich
still it's just a small suburban forest
bisected at a dirty stream that strains within fallen trees
brace thugs lead a girl wrapped in a shawl there
single in kind might swear--with impious intentions
a keen fear pricks my skin at the sight of this mangy humanity
a certain number of desperate protest
if it be not that it lasts just a split other
since the