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The Sycamore

de 137

Heard a lot of things through the grapevine
Heard the tick-tock of the clock, still I feel fine
All my hours feel so close
To the kiss of morning
Though sky's morose
And the clouds are mourning
Take my leather-bound journal to the Lethe
All the wayworn souls by that river won't forget me

Frozen
In the bitter blizzard that's called
Wisdom
Build a brazen movement
Then a kingdom
You lost reverence
Because of close proximity
Your residence
Is in the bowels of normalcy
Sages eaten

Know I
Do keep a pen in my vacinity
Able to knight a willing subject
Upon a bended knee
Don't vie
For my vantage point, unpreparedly
'Cause you might be harrowed
By the things your inner eyes will see

Pick a card
Wonder who you'll meet upon the boulevard
Of your dreams
Met the Reaper just the other day
The scenes with themes
Macabre
Are embedded in my very seams
Abracadabra
Create as I speak and I speak as it truly seems
Speak too much truth
Gotta lie low
Hard to spit a rhyme while in Hades with a halo
I feel craft is the lotion to dryness
When you next adress me
You May utter words: Your Highness

Frozen
In the bitter blizzard that's called
Wisdom
Build a brazen movement
Then a kingdom

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