Architects and UFOs

Where they will land nobody knows

I am a little bit tired, I hope this makes sense…the poem has been rearranged, and it is my hope, that now sounds better and has a better flow.

The strange reality plays without the unattainable white unicorns

The Devil’s horn was torn, now he is the pleasurable norm

Can dark misfortune be headlessly worn?

South is punching North

father’s son wishes never to…