Rotten, fallen and forgotten Misjudged Bulk, i sulk to what could of been a glistening sheen in a heard of nettles, in a vast wood that failed to clutch, onto your goods i timed your pace, your benign haste I lept out, and got a taste But those prickles denied me, my clutch didn’t guide me ephemeral in the physical, colossal in the mental. You will always remain there, as a spec on my thorn.