Slither and slime,
on its way to the grapevine.

Mellow chill, is built upon the wheels.
Carrying the weight without feel.

Deep down, the drowning clown,
blasphemous cling, checked yet unsound.

Slayer sword devoured the golden horde.
Kings of men, perished and ignored.

Political intrigue, developed mad libs,
shunned the flowers and tailored the core.

Yellowing with decay,
the sun is to obey.

In the end,
we all go away.