We all have done it.
And would be a liar to say we didn't.
You know told something.
When we shouldn't have.

But, I still hate the friend.
Who claims they are speaking for you to the press?
Where they place their own opinions into the mess.
If, I really wanted the news to know.
Then, I would have confessed the story months ago.

But, then someone people loves to be before the cameras.
And that have never been me.
Because many gossipers loves to create a variety of things.

Just to see you respond.
What they always seems fail to realize in the end?
A lie stays around while the real true fades into the dark.

And then the friends will say they never believe any of that.
Except,they fail to tell you they was getting paid behind your back.

We all seem people smile before your face.
And stabbed you in back without a glance.

Things that you probably only told to one.
Is now heard all arond the town you live in.

All because of the gossiper.

Some call me a prophet
Others see me as a derelict
These stories I’ve stored in my head
Can easily be twisted to fantasy

Am I reliable?
You have no choice
But to take what I say and believe
At least for a little while

I believe the listener
Is as naïve as I seem
Sitting on every detail
Every word

While visiting Southwark
I met a variety of characters
From different means of life
With different perspectives on the world

Looking innocent has its advantages
It gives me a leeway
To invade other’s privacy
And extend the truth to the edge of fabrication

Have you ever questioned a storyteller?
We all seem friendly
We talk highly of everyone we meet
Until we dive deeper into their secrets

The Squire
Composing music is his forte
I say it sounds beautiful
And he seems fresh as the month of May

The Friar
A gossiper full of language
I hope to understand
To grasp




A Sailor
Having bad joints
From extensive labor.
He must work substantially to acquire those injuries

The Summoner
Full of white pimples
Yet drinks red wine
As red as blood

I create a story
Yet can end it all the same
I tell you what you want to hear
Not what reality presents in front of me

For life is not exciting
Without a bit of imagination.
And with my mastered poker face
It may be impossible to seek out my lies

The darkness inside us all
Can peek its head at any time
Consuming us into a downward spiral
Of lie after endless lie

So am I reliable?
We’ll just have to see.
So here comes a story
Told by me.

superfluous love
for a discipline
is so much to
that of
information to a gossiper
******* to a drug addict
a dangerous concoction for a aspiring witch
.

Maggie knew everything that took place
in and out of the neighborhood.
She was always willing to talk about the
things that meant others no good.

Maggie the towns gossiper who's always
looking for a place to roam.
She could talk about the business of
everybody's except for her own.

Maggie always stood in her doorway looking
for someone she could criticize.
She criticized everybody except for the
man who's blackening her eyes.

Maggie may wake up one day and realize
that we all sometimes hurt.
She may even come to grips about her own
life and stop living in the dirt.

Maggie knows that a black cat moves about
in the darkness of the night.
Police cars parked outside her home let's
others know that something isn't right.

When someone talks to you about other people
They will also talk about you to others too