My Hill Of Dry Salt Poem by Jacob Underwood

Violin chords shaking the brass of the mountains and granite
A start to rumble into a barren hungered sandpit
A winters stone fall to rend upon the grounds racket
Facets of stone to fall on the withered mallet
Crushing the lands to silk Beneath their hatchet
Love not giving any peace in handwrit
Just to take on apathy's jacket
Safe Free from tithes and the planet
be free from stress and gambit
No cares to be landed
Just like dry rabbit
Don't risk habit
Dont risk it
Stone lit
Grit
Never to feel but at least your at the end of the mountains hill now