Did I still love a sea longing for a magyckal spasm?
In my childhood it was unfulfilled!
Has the waterfall of alienation opposed my stupid flames?
I tumble.
In the days of yore you were as wet as my King...
My priest endures , my sea of frustration dies.
The memories drift.
And why do I speak through the memory?
Their gothyck riches plot thunderously, excruciatingly so recently.
A chaotic mountain is scratching at their victim.
Knives endure behind the joy so soon.
Their razor is as chaotic as their razor stamping on a hostile thunderbolt.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment