Chains on your door
Rabid rabbits that are biting at your core
A second sentence notice waiting on the floor
In the eyes of the gods you feel like a cheeky *****
Sometimes you want to see
Without sailing
To breathe
In the presence of crashing boars
Fire fire raging on the shore
The tips of your finger calloused and sore
Take a flight to the next big war
So you can find something or someone to answer for
The words look at you
They're not smooth jokers anymore
The notes they sneer and rage at you
While you're still next to the second notice on the wooden tiled floor
On the lit streets you find the gravel and all the other things
And the city like a midnight jungle in full swing
Like a speechless parrot you try and sing
While not minding the other things
**** the other things
When you know that life burns like the shore you once slept on
It cradles you and your books like kings
Then sneers like the music that you once thought grafted butterfly wings
Don't look too far, the gravel is the king of things
***** is a feeling akin to literary spark
You drink from the cups of beggars in the Rimbaudian park
And upon your grand tombstone is a question mark
Where was he when they needed him?
If they knew of the evil sin
Of the city jungle
And the things and whims
They would've clenched their fists
And held their breath
Found the cave where triangles are circles
And circles mean death
