Meer coincidence
Or is an ounce of Stapes mixed in
Each new moon
Or a turn of the full
Or a harvest
Or withering crescent
There is a change in direction
The clovers all seem to wither
You narcissists hadn't any remorse to the hurt
Those years of hurt you cause your empaths
In your own bloodline
The only way the karma pays back to you
Is an everlasting flame