Yin, my queen, was undiscovered.
Instead of royalty, a mother.
Lately she begins to smother.
Enticing me to yet another.
Yang, my king, he has no face.
But fullness in disfigured grace.
Charred instead by lapping waves.
Ideas wadded, thrown to graves.
Terrorist, chauvinist, make a list, burn it.
Hear a plea, guarantee, feel so free, turn it.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:15 PM UTC
Yin, my queen, was undiscovered.
Instead of royalty, a mother.
Lately she begins to smother.
Enticing me to yet another.
Yang, my king, he has no face.
But fullness in disfigured grace.
Charred instead by lapping waves.
Ideas wadded, thrown to graves.
Terrorist, chauvinist, make a list, burn it.
Hear a plea, guarantee, feel so free, turn it.
