Poetry

Star InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar Inactive
There is nothing like a choked up pipe
When you cannot get a thing through
All clogged
Everything sewered
Seems time grew

Star InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar Inactive
A twisted soul
And a wounded mind
Cannot do justice to valour and wine

Star InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar Inactive
Discretion is the better part of valour foretelling
That forging the brazen impudence of fickle skirmishes

Star InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar Inactive
You circled me.
I spun and spun.
You caught me.
I played the game,
Star InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar InactiveStar Inactive
Nimble and daft with rhetoric mesmerizing the awed populace
With ecclesiastical jargons full of white noise coupled with a plethora