The fat of the land
In a handful of beauty's toil
Worth the weapon, the wish in the sands
Of marvel's and erudite silence we foil...

Turns of children, into a barbaric claim
With the simple to play, we are a habit in cream
Spare to finish the season of a southern name?
Can, a song and dance with redoubt begin our dream?

For an ancient first to lately the order of final worst
Sidelined with a careful love, the strength we dote
In a clandestine seem of what God meant for theirs
Sitting with charisma's anger, the head of isn't a vote...

A world of sense, with one more step in mind?
Can a stone play in your lap...?
Lent the redress of tag, is our fate the voice of kind
Upon the hurt future, we select from seldom's hap?

Is it me, or did the future just fall in love, with meant?
Quiet spaces and tarter rooms, to pray for a calling bird
That has spoken like a king has remembered its covenant
A harrowing house of freshness and its vex, has made lurid?

War has a beautiful voice until ******...
****** is a wisdom to fetch remorse, like a pride had moments...
Moments with a tilling grace, are a hidden play for copious worlds...
Worlds that ought a heed of mendacity, save a heart by irony relents...

Silence...?, and a medicine in a bottle
If you have noticed a circumcision as a foil of worth
Spare to these, and with a promise in chides and prides, so rotten
But met in the sight of a wishful friend or lover, is an angel yours?

I house thunder inside of these bones.
I contain lightning inside my heart.
I contain raindrops in my veins.

I am the storm.

But, do not worry dear plebeians, I do not strike on dark days of gray,
Only on dark days of pain.

I pour down on the suffering, to wash away all of their troubles.
And I'd rather have a lifetime of saving rain than a constantly-glowing sun.

Because the Sun is just too dim compared to the fire that burns inside of me.