my words are fickle, alright
my thoughts, abstract, are tenable still
I am open to change, I might
I think of roses and thorns alike
I love the setting sun
Blurt a thing or two in an insane song
Dream of life and kill for fun
The course never palls on me
and I never die any death
I meander around some lively woods
listen to chirping birds instead.
I know its a quagmire of a life
but I re-invent my rhyme
I am often nonchalant and often persistent
splicing charity with gruesome crime
No I am not in an art house jam
Neither are you out of sight
My thoughts, abstract, are tenable still
You can resemble me , you might.
