My puppet string philosophies
Complete with all the
Ambiance you could hope for
Cliches galore
And the blatant repetition of
Long-defiled words of wisdom
Of equality's darker cousin
And the lighter side
Of Run-and-Hiding
From the Boogeyman.
It could be something
To catch on to and never let go of
This simple anomaly of
Metaphor and prejudice.
But on the other hand
The venom of a widow
Hides behind a nice design.
So which to choose
In a sixty-forty chance
Of death by conscience?
Win big, Roll high.
Look up to the clouds
And their smooth
Silver lining
And hope
That against all odds
You're pulling at
A modern
Miracle.
The eighth wondrous
Sight to behold
When you
grab onto a
fiddleback lover.
So much for sweet.
The smoothness
Is out the window.
Just a shot of hot
Whiskey Cyanide
Straight Down.
A few seconds
Tick-tick-ticking away.
Then you'll be gone.
Left for the desert
Clean ivory for Gepetto's work.
