Pagoda, Pagoda,
My humble terrace by the sea.
Wayshrine for the hopeless
and the seekers of eternal ecstasy.
Why do they mistreat you so?
Ever accepting of our whimsical, hedonic presence,
you gave us shelter from the slobbering pigs and their execution sentence.
And still they ripped your gleaming limbs from you.
Those who claimed to love you.

Pagoda, Pagoda
so far from the corporate machine
living in an emerald midsummer dream
we must have lost our way along the chemical shores.
When the harsh confines of reality glared at my salt stained face
you treated me to warm freedom and a welcoming embrace
despite my turning a blind eye to your pain
and the savages who left you discarded.

Pagoda, Pagoda,
you were left hastily deserted
once summers tender muscles were exerted
and the liches stretched their frigid claws once again.
Now just an  ashen memory
while we count the hours in this glacial penitentiary
and wait for the beacon to bless us with its lazy gaze
and the return of our boardwalk paradise.