What a pretty thing to see words sing
as the lights twirl and flash
what a wicked thing to read words that bring
rage to be ripped and slashed
The pounding of the drum within my head
beats endlessly in the silence of the night
As the words have no rhyme or rhythm
causing one to scream and fight
internally all these things are happening
no one is ever the wiser
when things slip out in ancient tongues
what was a trickle becoming a geyser
no I’m not losing it as it may seem
all these nonsensical words come out as I dream
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