L'Ecluse

Even the book of changes suffers translation. Coming slowly, slowly, confined in a bronze chariot, turns out to mean he'll miss your call cause he's out in the car. It all slopes downward towards your exclusive, symmetrical ignorance, plus or minus the translucent trojan quartz, generous and prosaic in its fiction, fending for everyone but the one you want is out in the chariot, he'll miss your car, call him bronze, call him a zombie, anything but artist, con, (like with) azure lane after lane is one lane really, the only line there is