A beautiful fowl took refuge behind a fender
Learnt too late, that nature shall render
A stranger called change, that knows no wall,
In the rising flames before her final fall.

A quotidian fowl braved out in the thunder
To rescue a spark which the winds rent asunder
In the gloom of darkness descending from above
discovered a stranger called flame of love.

Sometime I’ve to snap
Something has to give
The way I have been
Is just no way to live

Out there in the black
Somewhere in my blue
Lies my way back, to
Where my dreams knew

Shackles are gilded, in freedom
But mediocrity serves as key
Here brave are usually lonesome
And genius oft on its knee

I did not ask them directions
Still they put blinders on me
Now my ride is insurrection
And tariff of payback is free

At first there was life
and it thought it'd live it whole.
But later it teetered on the edge of a knife
as it steadily descended into a twilight of the soul.

Nevertheless, from this void can bloom a flower
if only, it but courages the mirror in sight
and choose to believe in its power
to be the spring of its light.

It is very difficult to choose,
That which you can not afford to lose,

Which is the rose you behold, when your eyes are closed
Whose thorns draw blood, when your arms do not hold

It is the dream that you whisper, but never dare told
The last name you will call before your lips turn cold

A visceral ruse and an abstract muse
The only soul which you wish to fuse.

Days turns to months as you delve and dwell
on the opportune moment to hold and tell

Your heart of hearts that its only choice
Is to embrace the music of the inner voice.

A stranger in a strange land,
He fails to see or understand,
How he could ever be one with the fold,
And so reconcile the new with his old.
Wondering if he should fight or flee,
When even victory will find him on his knee.
Will she love him and would her embrace
Have the power to give his inner demons chase?
Would he burn brighter each passing day,
Or in the multitude merely dissolve away?
His principles here are contraband,
He is a stranger in a strange land.

A dog is a dog is a dog,
And of the dog is for the dog.
But if one is of another kind,
Who to the lion spirit his soul bind,
Then this one lies, as if in a fog,
to the discriminating eyes of a dog.

I want to hear your heart speak,
Even if you’re afraid of what it might say.
I want you breaking free from your clique,
And return to yourself, but only,
After you first run away.

That originality is oft misunderstood, is true.
But ‘tis a sin to voice mediocrity in its lieu.
Yes! You’ll be ostracized and generally hated,
But your heart will sing a song, for which
Some ears have longingly, long waited.

The order of the world is to enslave,
So rave, rebel, and misbehave.
Before you draw your last and ride the hearse
Free your mind, clear your throat,
Then stand firm and rock your whole universe.