Are we all just ghosts from a suicidal machine?
Patience hurts most when from it you must ween,
Yourself, climbing mountains, ignoring the gene,
That you wear on your sleeve, so it’s kept clean.
The verse will be diverse,
The curse will make you thirst,
Rehearse what you are worth,
The hearse will cause your birth.
Blame the errant game,
The price of putrid fame,
Notoriously, creatively lame,
Gloriously, poisonously tame.
The last will make you first,
Consign to what is worst,
Revive what died before,
To survive and stop the bore.
The tusks will poke your eye,
“Hoorah,” your timid reply,
The pain of blindness stops,
When your dog calls the cops.
A friend until the end,
You were my only bend,
Pretend that we amend,
The whispers that we send.
Can we break the shell and die whilst still standing,
Patiently demanding fair judgment of noble branding?
Tightrope walk the bullshit until you learn true wit,
Comfortable cages rob you of your reasons to quit.