Good afternoon, gents.
Silver as the rays that the moon sent
Is the lining of the cloud that followed where the monsoon went.
Depression and obsession and repression consume men.
What did you think that this tune meant?
Saddening tragedies are rattling these anatomies.
It’s happening rapidly among cats that have no rhapsodies.
Rapping these happily keeps me strong like trunk of sappy tree.
It’s bad to be sad as me like when I was just a lad you see.
I was having ups and downs like in the back of a tractor jeep.
I saw the thunder clouds all gray like half-cracked up factories,
And my heart already drowned in the Black or the Adriatic Sea.
It wouldn’t make a sound, and I was stricken by apathy.
By and by, her hosiery had slowly been choking me.
I would cry and cry, and hopefully the Reaper would roll with me.
I tried to die, but, whoa is me, Jesus C. never told to me
Why oh why her hold on my freedom never let go of me.
Rosaries were broken and her memories folded me
To a moldering colder thing that was now just a potpourri
Of a broken me and stolen keys that led to unspoken pleas.
They told me the whole thing about hoping for ease.
I’m hollow.
I’m hollow.