A guilty verdict a heinous crime
the jury advised " keep your name secret "
I may see trump jailed, doing some hard time,

The boss of a crime family in his prime
Vince Gigente was jailed to pay his debt
a guilty verdict a heinous crime,

A gangster who blagged to top of the pile
with conspiracies and murderous threats,
I may see trump jailed, doing some hard time,

There's no change between these two, in my mind
except the fool's coxcomb of his barnet
(a guilty verdict a hideous crime),

who thinks when he crows the sun rise and shines
I like to think he's now started to sweat
I may see trump jailed, doing some hard time.

I've no forgiveness, let him beg for dimes,
he can share a pitch with Guilliani, yet
I may see trump jailed, doing some hard time
a guilty verdict a heinous crime...

Sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this;
" Who on earth could vote for this lying chump "
try *** offenders bullies and rapists,

Anarchists and jailed insurrectionists
the immature who's hero dubbed them dum
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,

Ask ragged trousered philanthropists
and the dictators who've become his chums,
try *** offenders bullies and rapists,

And those antidemocratic fascists
shameless GOPers queueing to kiss his ***,
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,

Ask his sad insecure apologists
all these unblushingly will come up trumps
try *** offenders, bullies and rapists,

and twisted insecure rabid racists
a mutual courtship for a closet  ****
sorry Joe, you're asking the wrong folk this,
try *** offenders, bullies and rapists...

We must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****      
of Adolph trump and mike Goebbels johnson,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike,
      
Before they breach our democracy's ****      
and flush down history's drain our freedom,
we must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****.      
          
*** offending-leech trump, with his, "N" gibes,
the lawless insurrection he begun,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike.      
      
They'll bring in restraints ayatollah like      
using as fact the web of lies trump spun,
we must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****,
    
The steel veils crash down even as I type      
anti-gay zealot? Speaker johnson is one,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike...    
    
Treat them with derision, Roar " Take a hike!"      
use your vote get 'em, without question, slung.      
We must fight and fight against this Fourth-*****,
as I strive to voice some preemptive strike.

My vision of you,
Belied if tallied with stars in the night,
Like the moon lit blue.

Don’t tell me it’s true,
When I dare say you’re my sunlight,
If asked my vision of you.

Because there are so few,
Paintings that describe you right,
Your beauty like the moon lit blue.

Won’t you tell me a clue?
How do I eternalize this precious kite?
To keep my vision of you.

If only you knew,
You leave me breathless, gone my flight,
Tamed like the moon lit blue.

I pledge my true-blue
Forever be my pride, my delight, my side,
For my vision of you,
Is authentic like the moon lit blue.

Blue and white and orange and white
And songs and coffee and tears
Keep together my daily plight

I’d add you to my list of fears
But I don’t want to miss your laughs
And songs and coffee and tears

I’d split my soul into two neat halves
And hand me to you on a platter
But I don’t want to miss your laughs

I know that it would need to matter
If you were to open up one day
And hand you to me on a platter

I’ll model the place we’re in like clay
And slowly, slowly seep me out
If you were to open up one day

I’d take good notice of the route
Blue and white and orange and white
Would slowly, slowly seep us out
Keep together my daily plight

Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know
You burn the weak bridges of distant bays
In the barren shade you will never grow


You’ll reap the rotted seeds of all you sow
Doomed to be alone for the coming days
Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know


Neither pain, nor pleasure, will make you glow
Stuck forever in your pitiful ways
In the barren shade you will never grow


Through evil, twisted words and forked-tongue woe
Do your everything to push them away
Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know


In the haste of fright, you condemn your foe
Care little to not for the truth they say
In the barren shade you will never grow


I’d give you my heart for this final blow
Even for the fruit of love you’d not stay
Poor soul, grieving is all you’re bound to know
In the barren shade you will never grow

I may be just a partying sort of guy,
But that’s the sort of guy I wanna be.
I intend to go down laughing when I die.

I like the ladies, that I won’t deny.
I give them what they want, and they like me
Because I’m such a partying sort of guy.

I make love, sleep, wake up, and then get high.
My days and nights are filled with revelry.
I know I’ll go down laughing when I die.

I wear the finest clothing I can buy
And drive the fastest car you’ve ever seen
To prove I’m quite a partying sort of guy.

I never get depressed, I never cry,
But those who do have all my sympathy.
I’d rather go down laughing when I die.

So why are some committed to the lie
That life is hard? They must love misery.
Myself, I’ll be a partying sort of guy
Until I go down laughing, when I die.

Take me with you to your Atlantis
Where hues of blue glisten in noons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Are days of sober in crystallic bliss
Are nights of glacial comfort under mystic lunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Wash me into a tender kiss
Too soft to be witnessed but the full moons
For eternity we embrace in its promise

Beyond boundaries of mortality at this
ocean, through the skies and dunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis

Volumes and arks fill up the abyss
with painted tales of Atlantic ruins
For eternity we embrace in its promise

When love dreamily left only to reminisce
as the ink of Plato seeped in tunes
Take me with you to your Atlantis
For eternity we embrace in its promise

How far must the honey bee roam
To find an elusive flower,
And return to his honeycomb?

How long must a tumbling stone
Through a lonely landscape scour,
To realize its conclusive home?

How many do their fate bemoan,
Amidst the dark and latent hours,
Staining tears upon their cheekbones?

How do those, resting on their thrones,
Convince all of their own power,
And feign to know all that which is known?

Do we have power all our own?
Our own reasons to scour?
How far ahead is our fate sewn?

Do we let ourselves be enthroned,
To be a humble wallflower?
Or do we let ourselves be flown,
Into a troublesome unknown?