Nothing more frightening than an angry poet and a pen,
You wanna see a real bloodbath check their notebooks,
Fresh sheets of paper splattered with blacks and blues,
Bleeding through from whatever they carved out of themselves,
A poet with a death wish is the most tragic of romances,
Praying for their song of innocence to flutter into the night,
Hoping that one day soon the earth will come and swallow them up,
On that is ripe and fattened on dreams, raised in the orchards,
Here to clean up the mess of these polluck penned poets,
They were only searching for solace