Sights worthy of immortalisation
A play of wonder
A canvas of colors
Clouds of cotton
A woman’s elation
Caught in thread
She hides behind the storm
Indigo waves washing over
With them soar the starlings
Clouds with a life of their own
Soldiers of the sun behind the curtain
A symphony of luminance
In their final hoorah against the twilight
Soon the dome will be covered
By a blanket of black
Interrupted by startling beauty of her own
The migration of the great
The truly unattainable
So foreign and so far
A universal similarity
The unforgiving muse
The twisted reality
That beauty in a single moment
Is so easily erased
Should we not know how to paint

The dancefloor is yours
How she rules the court
She is no stage dancer
In the theater of war

Caught in the midnight streetlight glory
The deprived lay bare, shivering in the streets
Wrapped in blankets of steaming yellow snow
Out of sight is far enough to remain out of mind
Only the white right is entitled to authenticate their rage

Lay your broken child to rest, in their welcome grave
Paid for so generously, by the Imperial NRA
Who knew schoolchildren and congressmen
Bleed the same, to a disputed death

So afraid of the wicked, social state
It's okay if we make our prosperity pay
On the backs of blacks, we made our beds
But it's not up to us to pay them back

Those we sent to fight for us, lay awake in torment
Who could have known, that the greater curse was coming home
We don't have the time or the mind to treat you
If you had laid down your life for your country
At least we’d call you a hero on your tombstone

We have become oversaturated
In who’s name disgraced
To the point where we condone the genocide ‘abroad’, online and televised
Where the blind have truly led the broke, to the ledge
We'll always be okay, should the right price be paid

She collected whispers
In jars on her desk
And stuffs her pockets
With mumbles

She wears a necklace
Of marbles
Crazy Cats Eyes
That see in the dark

She cries crystals
That she later places
In a row
On the windowsill

She had a scrapbook
Of flattened leaves,
Butterflies
And razor blades

She played guitar
But only ever acoustic
It better captured
Her emotions

She would not sing
Instead she opened a jar
And let some lost soul
Whisper along

Held in arms of Hazel
Struck with a whip of glass
Rocking in my porcelain cradle
Waiting for the storm to pass

Care to crawl away
March after the tabby cat
Beneath the autumn glaze
The mountainside falls flat

It's best not to hold
A child of the wild rarely rests
To stay ahead of the cold
Milk dribbling from mother's breast

Knelt over my teacup cot
Heavy head heft over
Summer's kiss left to rot
Chocking on four leaf clover

Drowned in shallow streams
That little hands couldn't cross
Alive in distant dreams
Tucked in tight blankets of moss

Buttnaked babies in the swimming pool
With little wings, on their shoulders
Don’t drown in your drool
Make the water, a little colder

Scream and wail
A little louder
Eat your kale
A little prouder

Float or sink
Dip your head
Below the drink
As I said

Shred the strings on which I dance
Every tremble, something in my blood
Makes me fall at every chance
Ate the barrel, gave it a shot

I wished to free my thoughts
They’re now no longer mine
There’s proof how I hard I fought
In between the lines

Buttnaked Babies and a Sawed Off Shotgun
May it not have been in vain
There are demons on the run
Chasing Kurt Cobain

You cannot **** a choir
You cannot **** a flock
You cannot **** a cause
You cannot **** all of us