Drunk on my Heart's music
I live fated to sing
The lyrics spelled cross night in stars
Music a magical thing

Through time, through space, a thread of love
Its totem, enchanted turtle dove
The pure perfection of the spheres
At which the humble spirit peers
As they survey the world above

The world of Gods is ever near
Making miracles appear
Music from the angel's heart
Fills eternity, no end, no start

For Heaven is a work of art
In which all souls play a part
The cosmic music emanates
To Earth from heavenly estate
And dissolves the cold ramparts

The rulers of this realm, they wisdom lack
Their auras cold, of obsidian black
Never have they treat with pity
The underclasses of the city
When their tyranny resolved
As species we will grow, evolve
True democracy will take their place
Serving lessons in solidarity and grace

It is that those who know me distance choose
Because in pain they absorb my tender blues
An illness that cannot be defeat by brains
To them I am an evanescent rain
My world had died, a cherished, buried friend
She now with soil and with the earthworms lies
A melancholy with no start, no end
That topple, conquer, jade my poor Heart's skies

Come back to me my love and only love
Find sanctuary in my heart's golden grove
Which boasts a pasture tended to by passion
An immortal light, which triumphs over fashion
In Love what's Heaven's, God's is surely ours
A knowledge that nourishes, begs to be devoured
Come back to me my love and only love
And frolic inside my Heart's treasure trove

I had a heartbreak bad as hell
That left me under doomful spell
The pain I nursed with anodyne
Cleansed my soul as if soaked in brine
Since then I am a lot more lost
Whoever knew that love had cost
It winded me and broke my wing
After passed the dawn of spring

When he packed his bags and left
My spirit hollow and bereft
His patience snapped, it did not bend
And therein passion came to end
My spirit doth withstand the gale
Swept over me and sent from hell
Depression's spectre raid the nest
Inside my Heart, which laid to rest

The gains, ill-gotten, of the ruling class
Who from birth force toil upon the working poor
Have wealth only by vanity surpassed
Gold conjures an illusion of grandeur
Vainglory is the province, wisdom feign
Power hereditary in spite of skill
Unfit to serve a public they disdain
On wars and misery they stake a thrill

Impassioned, I,  for conquest in their game
The pleb outwit the tyrant, relegate
Warmongers 'gainst whom my pen take righteous aim
Doth their crimes and sins interrogate