There is a place down below,
Where the mockingbird used to crow,
Under the earth in sweet melody,
Of times gone past, and times gone needily.
In this magical place, I wander,
Speaking of times yonder,
And I speak to my friend,
About this mystical trend,
We work together underneath Charon’s Moon.
In this hell we call, soon.
We wait patiently and talk about revenge.
Ironically that it is the lies we spin, careenage,
Quicker and quickless, fast and fastness,
Speeding our demise and yours,
Upon fates sick web.

I SAW IT THEN,
What I SEE EVEN NOW
The future of MAN and the WOMAN he held dear!
And oh, the woe that lied WITHIN
The laughter so MALICIOUS
And the daughter NEVERAFTER
They all combined for some SICK DISEASE
Something I could not help but SNARL at!
I prayed then for the first time in my LIFE,
Let me take their HEARTS, their BRAINS,
Look at them MOTHER, look at their FAILURES,
What have the done, if not KILLED EACH OTHER.

And then I cried, alone once again.
My friend never there, left me again.
And my tears pooled almost high enough today,
To **** me forever.
Maybe tomorrow when I wake up forgetting again.