Sunday, March 20, 2011

Bloom, The Gloom Tomb.

In sickness and...whatever.


time is tidying, the tide is rising
roses bloom a tomb
fly, the dandelions, lions roaring
the leash has shrunk to gloom

free, my little bee, into the sea
little did it know
broken its wings and powdered his stings
death angel came to show

its, path.

silent, honey, my little baby
he chases those who cry
weep your bloody tears for others, maybe
he'll spare you a life

shush now, lady, your words are dear
to those who foresee you
a worn out missus hanging most to fear
the moment they come to

hunt you.

the southern train has arrived in vain
sent to ring a bell
for the northern deities begged you in pain
to finally go to hell.

No comments:

Post a Comment