To wist, whim rains in the long haul of fools:
Cloud vagary creeps, fey purity sleeps.
Loaves of nescience bake in hollow rounds,
Gathering grubbing, thousands drive drubbing.
Tabled you wait subsisting in silence,
The greenest grimace, vainglory limns us.
Orphaned ravens collect your kitsch and kin:
Rattle the morning, you give the Warning.
Your revenge is the clanging in the dark,
Banging out the rhymes: Hark! and pay your crimes.
Laissez-faire Electra channels your ghost:
Marsyas laments, libations relent.
Wailing your will pathetique banshee cry:
Magritte is ma ‘gret, eggs addled and wet.
Shade made scene, you place your men at easels,
My cher angelo, Saxon furies glow.
Flayed low and flushed, dollies are sleeping still,
Wisdom hates your war, please come back for more.
Moments of memory melting like time,
And I residue, the absence of you.
[Lyrics by John W.]