Life's Little Lamentation

Thou art lovely but forlorn As my indispensable colon Woeful were I as waste and rust but Thee consumeth and flushed I dreamt Thee squareth and till Eternity our love be rooteth for I favoureth Three and Thou art Two Thou art lovely but aghast And hideous like a skullic vase Frighteningly ugly upon chance that once but fractured pieces of a million dust I dreamt Thee sung and till Dawn my ears were deaf I used them to cry for my lips were too dry Thou art lovely but nasty And unsightly like my colon's fecundity Weary were I to traverse far but the End was mine Light's car

Infidels, whores of the land you sick bastards daring are you to proclaim my name in vain. Cursed be your generation, and yourselves be blessed with boils and famine and everlasting epidemics in shame. Hypocrites, you worship me in truth yet insensitive fools daring is he who calls me Lord and his brother's shod- Infidels, whores of the land indulgence shall not be granted for you hear not cries of my children. Ghosts, you insolent poltergeists, you think my fury's scorn in stillness passed cursed are those who sing beautifully in my temple. Infidels, whores of the land cursed are those who name themselves after my son and I in vain.

If I'd only cried a tear, I would still be smiling now from ear to ear and pen the daily dear. If only sunsets and summers were real, as morning glories unveiled in seasons will they abide and caress the hard winter's hide. If there are things I'd cried for I would heed not less, nor sought after much of time to time and come them days of crimson crime. If I'd only cried a tear as I had so many times before in the pauses of time's constant constrains and her brother needlessly acquaints.