Immersion in the wrong sorts  This is my manifesto    Tingly body  Mind sunk deep within  An arbitrary conversation    Looking, seeing, and feeling the wrongs  A simplified overcoming of stature and belonging  Nevermore  This overcompensated, disillusion of downtime   And no time of babbling  I will set aside and overcome  With suds of porter in hand  A mild-mannered genius has come to save me    I seem to rise as morning draws near  Pushing through fields of tracks (green and alive)  The dew draws close to my hung down body, feeling alone  But in the comfort of friends    If I drew this close to perfection  Every moment I would be the field  And I would be the green  A conflict of mind and matter  I would live in harmony beside you  But never alone