Playing with tonalities, how funny you are.. 
These are chords you kept inside.  
Between description, silence, a periphery.   
 
Any variation can be thought out and checked by fooling the authorities.
 
There’s no description I can give or want to,   
 
No way to rhyme turning away, hiding on the loose.   
 
Chords have their way in the air wondering how mediocre an apartment we get.