The scholars say;
all scorched green land
soon grows back
twice as grand.
Well if thats the truth of it
my lover foiled her own ****** plan
it just takes a little rain
on a red-dawn day
to sprout into the fray again.

All fickle friends decay
when the shot at redemption
is just a days grace away
they leave behind what should be said
within the prisons inside their heads

The manic depressive
does not believe
in the holy-light of love
if his brain can not conceive
but each day that he survives
is one day closer
to what his heart contrives

The proud atheist derides
with a rational mind
all priests demise,
but my dear friend,
if you think that silence
is waiting around the bend,
you will soon contend
that dark, stark trend
when your mind lends
all futile shields to fend.
You’ll see your spite
split betwixt delight
that which all knowing monks commend
and which your soul will soon amend;
that Death is not the end