Gods are made of men,
And flimsy things are they,
Just ask Zeus, the king of them,
Or Apollo of the golden ray.

Ask Poseidon, wave ruler for the faithful,
Or Hades, the distant kin of flame,
They’ll tell you then that men are hateful,
And put their faith to shame.

For Gods of men are powerful things,
Ruling rightly so,
Yet live and die in songs we sing,
As our whims will ebb and flow.

Yet just as strong and remembered still,
As those that we now know,
It was not so long since for them we killed,
Yet now they do bow low.

Why is it then that this king won,
And took with him the right,
To dictate men and send a son,
To represent the light?

Passing crown down through the years,
From one king to the next,
Appeasing men through faith and fear,
Until they’re rightly vexed.

Once, I knew her words to be somber sickening little things. The burdens she carried so heavily on her white and withering wings. Alas it was she who showed me the truth, that beauty may be found in heavy words. Fit to pull the heavens down to earth they were, and that was the birth of me. When all merry mirth found a new place to hold residence; in the sad and somber. ‘Twas after this I found myself chasing memories of her seductive shell. ‘Twas after this where halos only fell upon horned heads which could do no wrong. It was thanks to she that I saw beauty in weighted wings.

I already died once,
Was that not enough?
That was my reward for calling the devil’s bluff,
And saving the one I love.
But now the world’s asking me to grow up,
Or else it’ll judge me,
For being care free,
And finding life to be,
Anything more than lonely.

Grow up kid,
You haven’t earned a life well lived,
Until you dress like this,
Walk like that,
Stand up straight,
Be careful when you laugh,
‘Cause it’s not all fun and games,
Until your life has passed you by,
You only get to live,
If you’re willing to die.

I showed her my words and she told me,
“Write stories instead.”
I treat her like a princess but she always prefers the jester,
I tell her she’s beautiful and she doesn’t hear a word.
I make plans to hang out and she chooses someone else’s,
Nothing I do is ever good enough,
So why do I care about her still?

What do you do when life feels like a copy?
When the phrase “I love you” is just the cue for heartache?
When who you are misses who you were,
How much are you really worth?

When nothing ever feels quite right,
So you stay up all night thinking,
That life was once a steady ship,
And now you’re slowly sinking.

What do you do when you don’t feel good enough,
To ever really be sure?
When life shows you beauty,
That you’ve seen before?

There is power in who I am,
And from the hill where I stand,
I can’t see myself in your happy little kingdom,
For the crown that I wear is made of roses and rings,
To go with things left unsaid,
You say I’m insane but I’m king in my head,
And so I decree, come sunrise with glee,
All shall be free to rule their own mind,
In the odd-kind kingdom.

To the angel that I’ve yet to meet,
That gentle spark of creativity,
The calling card of humanity,
I’m so glad to see you sane.

Though the years apart do paint their toll,
For all of us to see,
None of that matters anymore,
Now that I’ve met you,
And you’ve met me.

I’d say I love you here,
But the years apart have been unkind,
For we both have our weight to carry,
But seeing you here sets all my care free,
Enough that maybe is almost certain.

So before we hear the curtain call,
Put on a dazzling display,
Of heart, of warmth, of spirit,
Set your weary heart to sea,
And let’s float gently together.