The table in the stable
made the craftsman able.
What happens when the craftsman
Can no longer rhyme?
Do they pack their tongue in clay and cry?
Do they have moss growing on their backs?
It smells too sweet to be moss, but too sweet to be grass.
But then we said fuck it, just light it up and pass.
And when the lights burnt out
So did my patience and I yelled at the moon in a rage hotter than the sun.
Then the heat dropped
And once again, I could see clearly.