Lyrically challenged in a pop centric world.
I keep my thoughts of girls in a jar like a pearl.
Never to be known or set on a velvet throne.
I keep to myself with, starving with a bone.
Dreams are made of these, no, I don’t disagree.
Who can say what is right or wrong, when it comes to the use of the leather or the song?
Needing, pleading, feeding, my misdeeding, I beg for a leg of a born again Meg.
Do you know, what I want to show, on a meandering row full of dough?
Pleasure for pain, is it right or insane, do you think I’m plain if I don’t refrain?
Is that a comment on society or just someones notoriety?
Today is the day to end all the dismay, with what in the world I have to say.
Nothing like the form of the warm and torn and silkily worn.
I play with the words you heard, but hurt from the blurred absurd.
With these I mean no harm, unlike the dogs from the stud farm.
I merely want to observe without reserve the curves with a curve.
No, I know I’m not normal, but who ever said my rhymes had to be formal?
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