“Walk me, foreign valley Hear us wail, know our call, Kill me, the troubled nomad, war torn and hungry Quell the sun and all its tyranny. Break the day, so to say and slay, the snow and all we know,… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“The man 'Jericho' wondered if the thing would get to the smoke it wanted. If it was as hungry as he was. Wondered if… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“As the man left and became gone the fault wailed after him, heartbroken. Yelling back at him all the ways he and it belonged… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“The art of writing is not unlike the act of screaming. A constant flow of otherworldly emotions with tempos high and hymns low. All… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“May the might be in the light, the beyond of east or west. As the faith lies within a broken bayonet, an ending put… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“As one door closes another opens some do say, but at times, when panic is born, all doors are blown asunder, hope driven all… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“This being the final say, tomorrow is thought about. The what of tomorrow, the who? The maybe, the if. Should it never come, none,… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“Walk me, foreign valley Hear us wail, know our call, Kill me, the troubled nomad, war torn and hungry Quell the sun and all… — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
“And with a new name came the ultimate alleviation of some gross unspoken responsiblity.” — Rosca Marx Copy Share Image
