I took everything
all of it.
Ischemic tangeniency had offered
me the souls of my Christians?
I deferred to poetry and rhapsody.
Like a Vampire Weekend concert.
Oh, without magic wands,
or tutilage of mystery.
I took everything.
It feels like an ancient rain.
Like an old president as our king.
He and she had to tell a few lies
before death and then took the
truth to sleep.  She of course
was a Bonaparte, and he of
course was from Oxford.
He wrote Frankenstein because
of their affair, she wrote the
crowned prince a diamond of Hope.
And his family lied in the mote.  
From the Battle in Boston, to the
French and American and The Seminole
War.  How would I ever know that
crossing the Patomic ment
King George the Third
lying on my floor.
To this day, I swear
The First President
of the United States
is the King of England.  

How dare you? Know the truth.  
He wrote the whole book
and that we had taken
everything they want
as an Oath.