Just press rewind and then you'll find
the story of a man,
a man who soon would find the moon
naked, who gives a ****.
A bullet flew and nicked a rod,
the opal curtain fell,
the little girl with luscious lips
told him, don't kiss and tell.
He blew straight down and snuffed it out
(well them, 'twere sixty-three),
he waved goodbye
his wife just cried,
they watched their daughter leave.
He held her tight in dress so white
and said "I do" with glee,
as he hoped for the right word
while he was on one knee.
He cried and sighed and wished to die,
the mother could not mourn,
the father smiled with delight,
his baby boy was born.
Nobody knows what happens next,
the question's only when,
I'm sure you'll figure out the rest
(hint, it begins again).

Stepping softly up some stairs
wary of a world awake,
the wistful crowd waits.
They hope to hear their fate,
the sound of steps they take.

There once was a girl named Sue,
who wept that nobody knew,
that her ghost was a bride
and her tear brought the tide
so now it is Sue who is idle.

The fire lit by passion
subdues the weary heart
into believing its existence has an end but not a start;
the heart develops fear,
that which seeks to blame
an unintended future where a tear can drown the flame

Silent, old, and violet night,
speckled carelessly with light
by someone who had lost their sight
before they lost their way.
And so they wander on today,
traversing endless space,
little fires lit by grace
guide them through the fray.

What will I think of today,
was the same thing I thought yesterday,
as bored as I was with the daily bees' buzz,
it seemed like they would fly away.
Alas, they are destined to stay,
and though from their fellows they borrow,
the pollen they plunder
again makes me wonder,
what will I think of tomorrow?

An arc is naught but
a curious sphere
who was bored of perfection
and cut itself clear,
of the undoubtedly beautiful, bountiful curves,
which made it so perfect,
which nothing deserves.