Two things that do not go together:
Oil and vinegar
Like two puzzle pieces that don’t fit, one bigger and heavier, the other smaller and lighter. One sits slightly on top patiently, waiting for some impatient six year old to try and make them, squashing, trying to change them and mash them into one picture, you take your bread and you dip, and these two things that cannot physically mix taste perfect.
Fire and ice
For one is too hot to handle her own heat and the other is too cold to be touched by human hands. Get them too close and sparks fly- he melts from a glacier into a puddle at her hearth, but to his misfortune leaks a liquid love and puts her out.
You and me
Like the puzzle pieces, I sit smaller and savvier, waiting patiently as you sit heavy and heartbroken over what you could never have but always deserved.  But nothing is perfect, because for five years you were too cold and I too eager, and we destroyed each other- you when you caved and I when you drowned me out and now you are so far away. We wait patiently for someone to force us to fit, while everyone who comes along merely samples and says we are perfect.

Why does my heart crumbles into pieces of soul?
While you are sitting there, watching us fall?
Why does my body faints to dust?
While you admire your work turn to rust.

You are our lord, our savvier,
So why do you let us drown?
Die in the fake feeling of being happier,
By fighting for a crown.

The power of all things is in your hands,
So now give your children a chance,
And put this disaster to an end,
Without taking this prayer as an offence.

I believe in Humanity, do you still?
I hope you do, and listen carefully,
"Today is our day can you feel?"
We will be truly free.

Gave us hope, give us love,
Don't let us cry don't let us down,
Hurting our knees by praying from our cove,
This piece of Hell you still own.

Those verses is the pray of despair,
Those rimes are for bringing peace,  
In a world we have known fair,
Which is now blown to pieces.

The are thee; that offer the effectual word, as much as anyone,
instead, yea accused of ******
It started out with the idea thyne wanted to be moved, stopped,
moved again, all Faberge as if images of people dancing
about lightly in a circle
However, what you did your whole life, -just did baby the temple, so thee had another one altogether not producing music, as it goes, doing more bad, ie: song is good
The mog god accepts is acceptance, of the lord we know you saw, as for the word your servants, yet, understood the councils of his messengers
Face not the bends on the river's meanderings as if in a  boogie woogie, constantly, it keeps smashing the good up -to a worked definition that is a recovery path
Comprehend this thee certainly, had some of so, to introductions yea. For that right there is set to go, savvier minutes make promises nary but, this, moreover of angel's aged wisdom, adays trial and error... no learning and forebear to others... or perhaps the switch of one's own strategies
Blessed each differ... who owns the tune... the celestial impasse of sorts, tis that we make our way through