I will be forced to fly alone, to try to pry through the trappings of bone the shutters, and find my way, back home....

Where I... used to roam, and I... find that my way back that had all of these flower, in field, dancing in the midst

of paternal curves...  Oh the night sky complacent chattering in your nerves

Boen  Boen
  Boenne.  Boennee.  Boenee.  Boene.
Beon.