Broken corpses,
Swiss—Mountain—Hermit.
The hermit's funeral song,
He fell into the mountains and became a hermit. False promises, lies. Take off the false invisibility and grow the wings of an apostle.
The hermit is best at hiding,
thirst for blood,
understanding of silence,
Hermits love small mouths.
Just try on clothes in the fitting room,
a wound made with a knife
It is the understanding of the corpse.
Intention: Only when you have a clear stand can you be called a hermit.