[font=Times New Roman]They Are..
The Fine perched Raiders grasping a plaid handkerchief..
in the skys first layer on a Vast Anchored ship
where the black angels live..
Watching the vast vapors sift,past the gas chambers mist
Toying with bookworms held from a Mad angler fish..Relaxed;angered stiff
Weilding a slash Tapered fin,crafted to reel through a septic lagoon
In A psyche so hectic and screwed that it'd appeal to a skeptic bafoon
Or a leather necked arab,with a featherless parrot on his shoulder blade
Next to a treasure chest of gold grenades..paired with tons of Solar rays
Following a frozen page listing solus names..
Of folks on the road to shame,gliding the empyrean on a Broken crane
I take one look at the world from my reviews focal length posture
To find bloakeish strained authors soaked in rain water..
Who'd note their time altering tension..
Through mind tauntering wisdom..
Waiting for one eye opening opportunity a cyclops could invison..
The prime thought is just sickening; one alone couldn't stand to stop revival
But glance upon their idols garbed for Cantopop recitals..
While they danced to songs on tiles lost in lifeless tunes
As their righteous mood and night resumed with wine consumed..
Later to vanish into a haze of smog on Chariots led by unicorns
Managing to escape the ball..once the Coaches fairly met and blew the horn..[/font][/align]
