lost in the lands of this big grey nation
numerous souls in contemplation
found myself in full contempment
hiding from the grey neglect.
orange bricks of great encounters
stand aside the lost grey shuttle
plans of future me emerge
roots from skies down converge.
three levels up of greyish mess
lovely towers fast surpass
the moving oak leaves fall surprise
three levels down to find just eyes.
riding on a full black omen
striking souls just made me golden
roaring waves find milky mist
tries of wind to break misfits.