Tragedy Outbound Illness

Inside out, but still separate. Hope for style, simple denials of the sordid kind. How could you ask for maybe more? The house won't win you over, won't spin stories so you can ignore. How can we cope? Still the slope of madness will win us over. Still the plan will always spin the clovers with the three leaves. Can't we win? Or we'll starve the sins of the overactive minds till we win assurance. Tides and tithes that bind us all. Hope that loses in the fall.