Seedy Nonsense

Lip care is nothing more, than a petty pimps affair

Now secretly sip the solemn stare

That this trio of moody mares

Doth decadently declare

As seething, sloth-ridden shares!

Intrepid, idol sitters sigh and cry

Searching for sense and soul a'stirring

For oft tis not occuring, in the bosom of their yearly yearning

So provoke pretense, and choke the heeding hearth with crumbling coal

Fresh, from your very own, stone-cold soul!

(unfinished)