She was born with the soul that of a great man
born of a contortionist equivocally insane
The first born of the first torn

linear thought
heavily maintained

She was wicked while watched
which was all the time

logical thinking
virtual mime

The thunderous matrix and estranged entangled
pinocchio's strings soaked in church wine

Spawned and spat in a cauldron of deceit
the wicked lay waiting and mocking her cracked feet

She knew the abyss was clearly tragic and stayed mute
the soul of the eulogy was when she was covered in soot

the tapping of the keys the clapping of the sky
Great Father in Heaven show me here why.................

leaving on the note of weeping