She was born with the soul that of a great man
born of a contortionist equivocally insane
The first born of the first torn
linear thought
heavily maintained
She was wicked while watched
which was all the time
logical thinking
virtual mime
The thunderous matrix and estranged entangled
pinocchio's strings soaked in church wine
Spawned and spat in a cauldron of deceit
the wicked lay waiting and mocking her cracked feet
She knew the abyss was clearly tragic and stayed mute
the soul of the eulogy was when she was covered in soot
the tapping of the keys the clapping of the sky
Great Father in Heaven show me here why.................
leaving on the note of weeping
sometimes things make the exact sense you want them to in the order you dont want them to! impossible is like never as soon as you say it .........
~~~~~a fabricated fantasy of a lucid mind holds the key to the great divine!!