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Lit On Embers Of The Lightening

Through the nights,
One voice takes its toll,
It shatters the mosaic wonder,
While the one with questions is torn,
Asunder,
 
The poison catastrophe,
Is nothing more than we,
And our mindsets,
It’s straight deliverance from the stars,
That we wish to be,
That our freedoms our free,
And nothing is clashed,
Like our universes,
Tightening,  
 
Through the fights,
Your usual voice does ring,
And nothing but conflict,
Does cling,
You are Jack and Jill,
Hating the hill,
With nothing to spill,
But the drunken will,
Of the philosopher poet,
Who can drink still,
 
Last at the drunken table,
Stand nothing but jokers,
But the jokers stand as Kings,
And as the drunken stand still,
Like the beating of your heart,
And its melody, does cling,
To something more beautiful,
Than Dali’s conception of a Queen,
While the thunder pounded,
With the lightning,
 
There needs to be a day,
That breathes eternally,
For you to stay,
And be the focus constantly,
Now when you go,
Don’t forget to close the door,
I know you need to know the hour,
You need to pull yourself,
Together,
For girl,
I’m straight as a feather,
 
For I shall say goodbye to you,
In the night,
I shall never forget the hard road,
We did fight,
Through crystalline obstacles,
We did face,
Nothing could stand,
But the music’s pace,
As I stood with the joker’s face,
And slept like an honorary King,
I constantly stared,
Into the lightening,
 
Now as the wise blind man,
I question time’s plan,
As I smile so grand,
And age like ticking sand,
Before the grand,
Piano,
That plays the funeral march,
Of the dead,
Who lay ahead as nightmares,
Do spend,
Time to make you question,
Which one is real?
I promise this one is real,
I am a Doctor,
Of Illiterate Science,
This one is real,
 
Before the floating convenience,
Of my mouth on,  
Your mouth,
I beg you to ask,
Why is the thunder crashing?
I stand alone as the wetting rain,
Does hail,
And nothing but truth and sobriety,
Can free we,
Who disagree,
In the tragedy,
That is Sunday,
The lord cried for you,
You Poor Soul,
 
This is the majesty,
Of Princes who thinks,
She is a Queen,
And with pointed vision,
Cleaves and steals and brings,
Nothing but pain,
As red as the roses,
That bloom as your true Freedom,
Does the fake queen,
Compliment herself without,
Your vision,
 
Beyond the bricks,
Of ownership,
My love can’t acclaim,
For she is alright,
Except when we fight,
And hear nothing but the fling,
Of fractured pieces,
That shattered reality shows,
Like looking for doves,
In a forest fire,
I realize you’re the liar,
But never will I tire,
To find the truth,
Behind the Vermouth,
And Vodka,
You’ve been drinking,
 
It shatters me to fall asleep,
And wait for the morning,
For what you said poisoned his,
Heart,
My best friend,
At the dead end,
Has no way to defend,
The crazy eye,
You fix upon,
His most sensitive heart,
You are the perfect thing,
To wreck what a good man,
Has got,
 
Though I smile,
Though I frown,
You won’t take,
The crown,
Though you have,
The power to,
Smash him to the ground,
You still hang on to,
A fragmented thread of gown,
Of the bloodied Princess,
And her thunder,
Scream as you will,
Like a frenzied siren,
And pound as you will,
You’ll only take the soul,
Who blindly stares at the lightening,
 
Deep at the end of the alleyway,
I’ll begin my tale,
As I have been down the path,
You wander,
Before I wish you well,
I hope you continue to tell the tale,
Of the phosphorescent lover,
And the faked,
Caked and baked intellectual,
Anarchist forsaken,
Individual who wrote this song,
Getting it all wrong,
But still trying to get you along,
With the shameful rose that,
Burns into the night,
Whenever the drinks flow freely,
It’s alright,
 
Goodbye, goodbye,
It’s all a lie,
Goodbye, goodbye,
Keep the sights in your eye,
So you can aim clearly,
For what you seek,
Goddamn!
The sound of the clipping beak,
Will beat my drunken sleep,
The sound of the clipping truth,
Beats the Vodka,
And Vermouth,
That you have been drinking,
Shall I see you as one?
Shall I see my beautiful,
Flawed angel,
With such disgust,
To how I feel,
As a graceful muse?
No,
Hilariously,
No,
I find you as Angel,
Lit on embers,
Within the lightening...
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