for this is not the life I've lead
And lead is not the heart that's bled
The days go past - one at a time
no one knows what past is mine
I know not past that once divine.
A freckle on the broken face
A tear the face can factorate
The meditated mandorate of times
true past of suicate.
Protruding from the eyes divine
A dagger past it's liven time
A cut create it's do or dine
before the fleshs' mandoline
the cry, the cry, my sis and I
Heavens gates locked tighter tonight
before the sights of Luthor's delight
cut the fleshy locks created in a time of titilators
making rhyme of now and laters and this balmy palpitators
Final saying to the taters
I conclude with what is faters
I am dying now my mater
Give my son my name.
