How much time has passed
Since the ***** in my armour last
Which stops flow coming
The space between sleepers
Slowing their moments
For the sake of a sorrowed spark
Making his mark on the pavement
How can these folk forsake the blatant laments
Of a pauper in king’s garments crying for change?

My gloat fails the throat
Instead of truth I sooth what is meant to be
Yet my soothing words fall to entropy before I manifest a pardon
For this lack of gratitude for art's garden
That has befallen the concrete cobbled empire
Of these glorified mongers of time
They give it away like infinite wisdom
Slipping from their grasp with every second
Spent in line looking forward to their freedom

Instead of seizing it in their hands
Primal roar to get past that meiopy
In the name of her majesty the queer
Peering out from her crystal mountain
With her blue blood and scaled skull
Tax checking the pardoned fortnight
That expensive foresight they can ill afford
Painted on their contours so beautiful
I try to drag it out
But like atlas, my groans
They bounce about and fall short

Of merchants' wails for biased expression
Promoting depression of consciousness
Spontaneous mess I create to shake the slumber
But grow humbler at my failure to save
Every single one of them
Young and old
Mothers and fathers
With the twirk of a wrist

How children see more and through them we will work
With their wide open hearts lies the start of the new world
So let us show them how
Then the universe will be never ending
Much like this thankless task