Yellow I lay in blithe,
Curled with aspiration to thrive,
Thou face point ye front,
Glaring like a maggoty cunt,
I quiver at the thought,
That I couldn't be sought
Silver nails of gnaw,
Screeching without a flaw,
Can cut his throat and thrive,
Water through his hair to dive.
Yet I glow unaware,
What draws the warmth here,
Somewhere I search for her truly,
and don't get a chance to meet her
Conditioned by genetic necessity,
I have much to move along,
For what lies are true,
If they don't let you belong.
The skies are green,
Reflecting the fresh Moss below,
Of decayed war heroes
Who all took the blow.
A poisonous gas got loose,
Floating the cycle infinite today,
So the Merry sing blues,
Of infinity being zero one day.
The skies are green
Covering the dead Moss below,
Of unfulfilled lost love
That took the final blow.
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