Art of honey, vineyard of no grape, where water is none and hot the frost. Hearth of earth, sell your soul to gain the world. Mold yourself to pots and pans; break away from all your sins or carry them with open arms and loving hands. Gnaw my name, stay the same or melt the ashes that lust for heights; persist below and grow to know that heaven lies underworlds far from home. Separates from serpents, pace. It could be grace, or even an escape~ just pray we never meet face to face with the one who makes or you'll fall off the page.