This life has snubbed the bloom like a thick brown sac thrown on the sod. An octogenarian tries to slice the hope indulgingly to achieve immortality! Was it a virile snarl? A rose bud wrenched open in a fatherless home.
She sits there looking so cold and alone But somewhere under there, There beats a heart Beneath all the black and chrome The smooth lines that glimmer Soft but sharp in the night Are begging you to play the game
Death is truly traitorous It is highly cancerous; But dealing adventurous With animals herbivorous. Death is truly traitorous It is highly decorous With examples numerous Of behavior scabrous. Death is truly traitorous It is highly glamorous Though itself timorous As
To celebrate a beautiful sin on the green lake a sequelae starts a covetous lust of white skulls, discovering oneself was as exciting as the fondling of breast for the first time – innocent graveside, road burning stretching to throbbing