Saturday, November 26, 2011
When you Live to see a King bow his Head,
it is time to stand and say.
You have sinned.
Can you puke from your Lungs?
Yes! I can.
If I was? A question you should not have to ask,
but in accordance with Date RAPE, we do.
Should our lives have been,
but they were?
Where is the compassion for the King that hung?
Well, no one noticed but me and that King.
So in defiance of my Fathering kind,
I spout out the lie of reality, you're ick!
Being blood to a King myself,
he cannot hang, neither is head, nor can he suffer the nooce.
For hangings are for Cowboys,
and they only know Will.
For with indifference to what is, I shall turn,
it over to the marrying kind.
Youngest, strongest, next you are in line to receive the guillotine.
Whether in TIME or REAL.
Does it matter?
Only to the ones that can wrap the rope,
and know the path of the maker or the worker of sew.
Freight that carries a tremendous weight.
Luck is a matter of opinion.
I don't make what I know,
I have and you don't.
To the Isles of what is not lost,
I say, "To the Cloak Room."