Don’t Let Him

Tickle my trampled tallies please
Knock their knickers off knowing full well
Of conventions chilled and gaudy brew
Hell stamp, prod and wait for your applause
So simply scythe his dreams and hold back
Keep far from the fairies grasp your faith
Leave it be, sitting under settled dark trees
In the forest filled up with gravity’s bastards
Bury at ones base, and watch with wild eyes
Watch his slimy, slinky corpse slide under
Down in a grave made for frozen fools.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s