I know that you think I'm just mediocre
But I'd hoped I could be the Batman to your Joker
You've broken me down to make me feel like mud
Stained my life's skin when you spilled all its blood

I've sat by the clock of this world as it ticks
Simply waiting and fading as you make me sick
And I know I'm no hero, but I can pretend
I've nothing to offer but words from my pen

So why do I bother? I know I won't win
I don't have a clue where I'd even begin
So I just cut my spine out and gave it to you
When you planted it in the ground, what kind of plant grew?
I hope that you got to see something brand new
Something so strange, did your mind go askew?

It's fine if you think that I'm nothing but dirt
Your pathetic attempts to be cruel do not hurt
I'm stronger than coal that's been crushed into diamonds
I'm larger than mountains, there's no need to climb them

I've caught all the stars and I've swallowed the moon
I've danced with the sun and flown with stray balloons
I've cried tears of seas and I've swum with the sharks
Collecting the lights of life, creating the dark

She saw words
           in stars
  And life had meaning
        When she
   followed her heart
Opened up for disaster
         to strike
But the matches of protection
     Were nothing alike

            She saw poetry
      in his eyes
And nothing ever looked
           as sweet as his
     laugh lines
 But the flow of the pen
          stopped short of madness
When she was born again
    
        She saw lyrics
   in every emotion
           And all the tears and smiles
      proved her devotion
But life had a way
          of sneaking up on her
    When she closed her eyes
            Before looking
        in every mirror

    She saw love and pain
all at the same time
        and she was hurt and happy
  By every one of his rhymes
          But nothing ever looked
     as beautiful as his
               piercing eyes
 But the flow of the pen
          stopped short of laughter
When she was *born again

On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.


And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.


Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
There will be no other end of the world,
There will be no other end of the world.

The bayed back feeling that once was you
Boiling down the ethereal , in differences
I cross the twi's lights knowing I will be
here . . . for a thousand years

This is astound  , no reason is clear
Where the smell of grass comes to pass
You remember a kiss that won't disappear
. . . . . . beyond a thousand years

Tuesday . . . dragging the clouds away
Hearing the voices that were never there
Telling me to hang my ethereals out to dry
It may take a thousand years

Cold hearted orb dressed in white satin
embrace the shadows you cast across
Tell all the Knights lacking they cannot win
Not in a thousand years