Meaning eludes midnight's lament, as constellations leave their welt lined up in the star scattered skyline Gravity shackles with iron grip aligning chains to Orion's belt now resting in a milky row confined
Galaxies are made from ripped sheets, pieces of torn cloth, and felt sewn together with Poseidon's trident then dealt across an oceanside wading the obsidian tide pelting midnight's shoreline
He spoke expanding entropy with a voice rasped in depraved sickness, washing his hands guiltlessly before lifting this jet black awning over top the veil of existence
These feet drag on dancing in lonesome's brigade, music grows like Kentucky crabgrass bursting cement to meet the rain, breaking free through a concrete slab growing out its swagger and mane
A siren's lure has kept me skured on the end of a driftwood dagger, bleeding I stand profoundly for desire is latched to my stature like the feathers on a bird
Hills of fire beg for rain, why must the clouds forsake them by roaming among plains filled with mire and several tethered chains strapped between two mountain ranges like a meadowlark inside a cage
By light of the moon foreboding gloom, shredded cotton rushes through with lightning strikes inosculated stretching from rows of falling rain, blotting out the sunlight with a monochrome shadow, and washing out every storm drain yet not a single flower blooms
Nothing green will ever soothe such an arid desolate city where not even a storm cloud will stay
I wonder how they escape Oh, I wonder where these storm clouds drift so swiftly swaying while thunder hounds on leashes yelp howling and strictly baying
So grey and still the cyclones pose, farther and faster away, not guaranteed to blow this way or find their twilight desert rose