The Waxen Pith

It's a dangerous game,
Pull strings it hurts.

Noway...

Joust an only way to say
No sé.

The old-man is raining
Fire in my head

Fire in my hand,
The wind at my back,

Day after day,
When does it stop?

When did it ever begin?
The question:

What haven't we seen?
What don't we do?

This is the thing,
Is the world made of plastic,

Cause that's the way it seems.
Endless dreams,

What do you mind?
If you get exactly what you want

When you want it,
EVERY SINGLE TIME.  

By this we have lived,
There could be a record of a truth behind lies,

Some obscure glimpse into future events,
A better vision of the past, I guess,

Something benificent about a spider
He said,

The leaves of my tea
Are untied.

Lone wolf
ebb flow

one mind,
oh know.

Messire Ennui and The Skeletons of Saladin's (His Little Black Puppets who Grin at the Sky)

This is my depression:
Catharsis,

Dialectic
Profound of ethics,

Err, devoid of ethics,
Premature

Departure,
The voice of the sage.

I'm walking the cat
Crestfallen

All the way.
It's fucking obnoxious.

I loathe going out at times,
Too much de rigueur  

Is bad for my lines.