Gray Heaps That Never Rot کے بول

lying there is a dead hawk on the side of the road, wing up being propped by a bone Broken, Pointing up back to the sky. Its feathers more gold than anything around Could you not tell? Nature has no place here We claw at everything desperately choking it You can see it in the greys in the blacks In the heaps that never rot You should have seen BIRD that we'd crush you instantly