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What is this
this unkempt time
sitting in cubicles
writing rhymes
but what’s the use?
I’ve seen the end
so here I’ll sit
and colors blend
like some small child
with dirty fingers

I’ve wasted dreams
on getting fed
my hopes and soars
have turned to lead

but providence comes quick
the change I seek
is one lone wick

I draw the fire from that dark stone
the one the alchemists
“Visita Interiora!!”
“Visita Interiora!!”

I am the Earth
She is the Sun
let’s light that fire
with my holy gun

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