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Hold on, blank paper, do jot down: “We don’t know what is going on, being misplaced in our soil. Walls have ears, as someone said.”
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Tell a falsehood, yielding dismal into us. Stair of bloodshed, that’s their point of view. Inside our household, we’re decent to each other. Giggling, either sneering. All of the junctures, stood here, everyone’s on murmurs. Nobody likes us, without our sacrifice of the veins.

(Forget-us-not: where our toes would fall for the decision that could blame us? Discover for the darker flank.)

Our sand, to see the hourglass, stopped by, and no return. The future, couldn’t be known by the commoner. We bet, that we are one of them, yet, it’s doubting. Guess, where our tone goes down? Do not know, we still chase for our truth-like. Walked a mile, twilight in our arms, full of red–our eyelook. Declared, Walst is our stamp. Deepest of breath, locked in, the rots of our laugh.

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 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤ “For we, the forsaken, walk a path tainted
ㅤ by curses and eternal darkness.”
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ
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Tiding-up, the moonshine shan’t be bust up over there. Within the canines, they lose the alley. Unseen, in the veins, jaded-eyes–woebegone haunts them. One by one, it’s tormented. Human’s thought, couldn’t save us. They don’t have a desire to look up through the truth. “We’re just ... a bit different from them. Why do they the limits of pain, they’re chasing for our graveyard?” Something awakens in us, the back of one-sided outgrowth. Our gaze, borrowed the strength from our bodies & souls. Entangled in a penitentiary, we need salvation.

Aback from the jinx, yielded by the Red Moon: sharp fangs were crammed with eternal curses. Our destiny, became a swarthy tale in the mortal hemisphere. Doubtless, we clasped the night’s hideaway. Those borderline can’t beat us. Blood drying, be thirsted alongside the chasms. As the voices of clamour, we are–the misdoubted.

Notwithstanding the hopes, we persisted all the dismal. Cracked, our genuine. Be fogged, licked the liquorice, the leftovers claret. Forsaken by God, we’re humming into the evildoer. Twisted by regret, we can’t assure ourselves to be knitted by mayhem. Tears well, and bites the fracture. Murdering, forever gone from the outside & inside.
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
Throughout the entire cluster of houses, the trees are filled with fallen leaves, and withered petals-sink from the roof deck. It is said that the old house inhabited by eerie creepy-mortal creatures gathers. Celebrating a bewildering night by conducting a completely different tradition than existing ritualism.

They're a mystery, unsolved. All witness them as if they're outcasts. Lush trees, a haunted homestead adorned with bats, create an atmosphere of a truly warming enigmatic day. Lanterns are prepared to enhance the jubilation, coming together for unity and peace. Thresholds creak; something tense is about to begin. The haunted homestead inhabited by cursed pysche, starting its particular moment, creates great awareness.

Radiant light of the full “Lunar Rays” upon nowadays celebration with laughter and merriment in accordance with their rituals. Beneath the eerie appearance, there is hidden goodness and enduring warmth. A modest gathering is preserved in their perpetual, veiled frames. It's a mystery to all that they are having delight. This-dusk, we celebrate All Hallows' Eve with peculiarity and warmth. Luxuriate in October 31st jubilation Halloween by means of excitement, The Walst Family.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
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Please enjoy our homemade gingerbreads as much as you like, Walsies!