Enjoy the madness, its Mortemer's dance! Swishing and turning its not wishy-washy, Slashing and cutting the shapes! Oh lord the shapes! Slicing and spinning then boom! Red confetti. Look at him go in his marvelous trance! Spinning and cutting the dance spins in circles as the audience cries 'now do the slip and slide!' So he slides in real slow now he's in his mojo He's feeling himself as he's breaking it down. Its him and himself in his spotlight lit solo, A pool of composure for his one final flourish; A swish and a slit, moves never seen before. The big grand finale and the crowd goes bananas! There's roses on roses, they pile on the stage! Mortemer's touched by such lovely affection from a crowd of individuals with no connection. He'll lie on the stage and soak up the praise. His roses smell sweet, and his roses are plenty.
Lights and all the shades That its shapes throw, Etched along the path of its travel Are the moments it creates Where we're wasting away The time of our lives In the hope that a beam Will wash it all away, Give us the enlightenment For which we all pray Let the wave of brightness Pass through the keyhole Of this dark room of life, Make you look impeccable While in reality You're only Dusting yourself off, Picking up the pieces left over In the wake of destruction Caused by your own self, The smile is unreal, Not fake You still carry hope In the middle of all the cries Some days you fall, Other days you shall rise.
You can't run from the mountain, If you want to drink from the fountain.
“All my roses like to go,” He says looking outside. “I am sure they’ll come again, In the spring they’ll come out, Wherever they do hide, And I’ll be able to rest.”
Something has eaten my flowers...again And I am not sure who to blame. I take such nice care of them But they never seem to grow. Maybe there is a mole… Yes feasting away my crop Or perhaps I am too early And the chill has made them stop. I say laments and I cry But all I ever do Is shrivel up and die.
I will try something else, Roses always die too soon I will try something else! And then I do nothing. Weeds and vines grow about Clogging my drains as they sprout. My garden feels empty All I want is one thing But then I'm left with plenty.
You once had a nice presence Here some time ago But then one day you stopped And left me all alone. Roses, they are telling me That I am not the one they want Somehow I’m not good enough And I should just stop.
Barbous thing you tricked me Was it ever mine to want That i gave you all the conditions And you gave me naught. So I look in puddles And hear about others success But all I do is wilt And in it I regress.
I feel like gypsum A minor step in between Stale and used Time has expired for me. Why are there so many vines, Why is there so many weeds, All vexing me in all directions I wish I could fall asleep.
My face is cracking plaster As I start to weep I feel my mind sinking And I start to dream. You are the ****** one With little of success. I am the ****** one, They know what is best.
I changed everything So i could be adequate I played the role they liked But in the end I am looked at In bitter thoughts and spite.
There is a curious thing growing in my garden. The vines have blossomed And the weeds bear fruit. Is this the allure of sadness Or just an unrealized truth Because I sit and look At the thing I ignored.
So here I take What has been given And we brush away The mistake I’m living So stop with all this fake peace You should have been Honest with me.
So find some sugar songbird, You can bury me alive. But I’m not the one Having something to hide.
Here is my garden, There is plenty of space And i don’t want to live Under your passive glance.
Here is my chance I’ll try to let go. But I am the memory of someone They will always know.
Small circles, friends, habits, family. Small cycles, seasons, habits, family. Small circles because... seasonal friends. habitual cycles. familial circles. Small cycles because... habitual friends. seasonal habits. familial circles. Family cycles caused... circular habits and... seasonal friends and... circles of habits and.. seasonal family... cycles of circles, circles of cycles, cycles of circles that spiraled me earth-ward, circles of cycles that spun me sky-ward. Circles of habits that turned me inward. And then breaking cycles that turned me outward. Sometimes a broken circle is closer to perfect. Tri a new Angle. Sometimes square is better than circles.