There once was a person
Head over aerial, but what for?
He terribly glanced over the view of statues
Then back to his shoes once more

Hiding from his eyes
He stumped the glories over words of gold
Read it with his anvil sharper than mine
Digging his own words has cost him his bold

Now the man starts to wonder
The meaning of tears and ****** remorse
Blazing in the thought did the man once more
Looked down to the soil his words bore

Now says one in all of thunder’s will
"Bury the Jews...”, and little does the ****’s mind knows
The man had no words, no glory nor blunders
'Death without a handbook' is what he brought

The earth now crumbles in the passion of ****
And now the god vilify to him for words
But now he smiles in hopes for tears to ricochet
Why god? Why be cruel without a pulse?

In the end, that's all he can do in the mist
The heartless compassion to level the soul
Bury a soul or two for you to judge
Why hasn't the man buried himself already?.....

The worldly care of the piece of lead,
Today was stary and icy, as i glanced over death.
Choke to ricochet the secrets of living with a head,
'The scream of a wrecked soul' while you bled.

And vigilance of that mask isn't to be heard,
It is the most of evergreen if leafs were hurt.
And Robinson Cursoe isn't that far from my words,
As i am from painting that vigilance in red.

And scenes of fire and the torched sky,
You didn't like my heart to poetically ask "why?".
Exploitation of that very distinction is mine,
A demon isn't a true portrait or art but I'll try.

Be the nobody to digest these claims of glee,
High is the heaven if my god don't fancy me.
Now i rest with the stary mess of a dream,
Am i beautiful knowing that the leafs never bleed?...