At present day in our abode
a land of songs and fire
the bold are nailed for petty sins
our land laid low by ire
There lived a woman good and fair
who wore at night a cloak of air
She road a hurricane of wind
a trusted steed and ready friend
The meds she took were for her fear
a script did she require
b/c a metaphor of bloody gore
the preaching of a choir
It’s hard to say just what went down
aberrant thoughts all have their ways
Though we laid low, the streets a home
the action wasn’t ours
Little grey men
yes
less than friends
the dangers of our fear
A conversation wasn’t ours
but their questions always near
With a tapping
and a drumming
a singing
and a humming
They all imply they’re there
But if you show
then no one knows
except
they’ve all been everywhere
With a secret smirk
for your forlorn look
a face that hates
adulation
of all the wonderful things you are
of the people yearning for you
it’s so far away that they
will never find a place
made special
where your peace of mind fits in
just like that
where you will never find
that you are back
in a place that calls itself
too good for you
that something evil put us through
Where none here
yet know your name
we did not seek the danger
Most never will
know the thrill
they stay as we’re escaping
You see our words
are not pronounced
but drawn from memory
Like constellations in the sky
Like Gods that live and breath
AndrewsNotebook 