Poised on a golden throne, in a glistening garb, with eyes of stone, playing a glass harp...
Danced like a wooden marionette, with satin lips and silken hands, with clamouring shoes, on silent sands...
Fled with a broken hull and a tattered sail, with rustic palms bleeding and frail...
Feared the harlot winds and her howling hogs, with their rabid minds in toxic grogs...
Shrivels up and dies on bright summer days, feeding manic rats in their hungry frays...
And then they rot amongst flower beds and toil, nourishing corpses and ghouls in their soil...
Danced like a wooden marionette, with satin lips and silken hands, with clamouring shoes, on silent sands...
Fled with a broken hull and a tattered sail, with rustic palms bleeding and frail...
Feared the harlot winds and her howling hogs, with their rabid minds in toxic grogs...
Shrivels up and dies on bright summer days, feeding manic rats in their hungry frays...
And then they rot amongst flower beds and toil, nourishing corpses and ghouls in their soil...
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