Drink — it ends before too long,
Leaves behind no lasting song.
So stay strong—though hard, stay clever,
Work and dare to live forever.

Fight this Filth—expect resistance,
Threats and hurdles in persistence.
Tears won’t help, nor cries of pain—
Only cunning wins the game,
Cold precision, shrewd devotion,
If you’d dodge the fool’s erosion.

Greed and weakness, fear in fashion,
Pride that mired in "stylish" passion.
Faith in folly, evil’s reign—
Such is foolish world’s refrain.

Cracked SOLES extorted
because third worlds must cry
YOURS are rubberized

There sits on the bank of a river
A child all dressed up in gold
As she sits on the bank she is crying
And the wind is sharp, silver, and cold

Her dress lies in pools all around her
And the skirt is encrusted with jewels
Which glint just like stars in the darkness
As she cries for this world made of fools

A lover who charmed and abandoned
Such a tale of unforeseen woe
That had swooped like a bat from the darkness
And delivered an unwanted blow

And these teardrops that fall from her lashes
Each one of them turns to a pearl
That lands on the dark fertile soil
And they grow into plants that unfurl

And this garden that grows up around her
Is in colors as bright as the sun
And the flowers that blossom and open
Are in hues that appear every dawn

And she sits and she cries and she mourns
In that dress for the richest of queens
And she looks at the beauty around her
The leafs are in all different greens

She looks at the tall trees and creepers
And she gazes at the long tangled vines
She lifts up her head and she marvels
At the flowers of all different kinds

But they cannot acquit her of sorrow
They cannot rid her of pain
So she walks into the river of water
Never to come up again

And the river it carries her sadness
It's burdened with all of her griefs
And the water is glossy like pearls
Gently sway the overhanging leafs

As her body is carried beneath them
And they sing a whispering song
For the child who cried them to being
And mourned for the things that were wrong

There sits on the bank of a river
Many trees all dressed up in gold
As they sit on the bank they are crying
And the wind is sharp, silver, and cold

I realize that what I had before
is now no more.
That what yesterday - a long lost era, a time gone by - had breached,
is really nothing greater than a hidden phantom, who will not be beseeched.
Once I thought I knew with certainty what it is that I now ponder,
that they in life did love me, just as I in life loved them. I wonder -
though to no avail. I reach my hand out as if they may touch just a finger,
but there is no answer from the emptiness. Yet I with none do linger
on that cliff edge some call hope, on which one sits, and that only
until the doubting kills all faith, while I remain forgotten and lonely
Wondering if perhaps just one step forward could bring freedom,
if just one step forward could deliver me into some kind of kingdom,
of darkness maybe, perhaps of light, or nothing - simply timeless nothing.
Though I sit in feigned decisiveness, I feel naught but hateful longing
What had been clear is now not and lays here rotting on a long abandoned bed.
A lovely thought flits through this darkness and sits itself inside my head.
But remember did I once more that all my friends had gone before me
to the place of no return, to that point which you call destiny
or fate to those less fortunate, who've received what they deserved.
Beware lest your mind grow numb unto horrors you've observed.
For if all your friends have left you, remember what I've said -
the earth spins ever on and on for those who are not dead.

One man may look forward while another looks behind
Each to his own way and each to his own kind
Why must morals be so fluid when so many step in line
But the world is more chaotic than one may first design
For as number falls on number and push comes to shove
Very little matters but the individual's iron glove
So each must bear his burden and each must bear the mark
For none can hide and all must bow and smother any spark
Because fire is discouraged and rebellion not advised
For who can **** a Monster who is previously demised
While row on row look spotless, beware the truth inside
Their lies are hidden deeply with bodies buried beside
The worst is rarely public, but embedded in a hole
And it quickly is apparent that most don't have a soul