Roll the dough into flat as well,
as the ocean's water begins to swell,
like an axe with a forcibly fell,
and the lava bubbles in the fires of hell.

There's a truth to every typed word,
against the singular of all the herd
pinky fingers and what you will swear
Don't play this old game of truth or dare.

I never as you were like a daughter,
in my eyes, a proud wishful figure,
Your words hit hard like a razor blade,
I felt lost in the darkness of hades.

Let me out.....
Let me....

How can I sing without my wings,
a rhyming truth to the soft of broth,
The pleasuring to the a voice that sings
The insects don't zap to this distraught
like a school lesson couldn't be taught.......
and like a bumble bee in a glass that's caught.