My lines are so sick, that all of them are in the clinic with a cough later.
This force is so strong with me  that I was the father to Darth Vader.
Your lines are dead, and don’t blame it on the approaching storm.
And you couldn’t get reception because your tone was wrong.
So you trying to get a signal, but you couldn’t even get one from  Dark Knight’s violence
Trying to bring the drive in all that you do, but you parked right by hydrants.
I did not need to pick up a hammer because I was already worthy.
And Thanos snapped his fingers to avoid me, because he could not hurt me.
So in this life of written word, you can call it a modern Shakespeare sonnet.
They look down at my paper like they look at a casket, to see a wake here on it.