These pages aren’t all light and glory-
this is a terrible love story,
but it’s still some great *******.
It’s a tragedy smeared on the geography,
and it’s a comedy of cosmic calamity.
It’s the chanting of the trees,
and it’s the ramblings of insanity.
It’s a tirade told with fluttering hands,
like the last autumn leaves on a dying land.
It’s a careless musing, but so amusing;
a prophets dream we’re, by waking, losing.
It’s a mystery of misery;
it’s a history of divine impartiality.
It’s the animated hand of animosity,
filled with the fire of philosophy,
then faced with the fallacy
of reality.