Amazed by those who do not write about themselves;
or try to shade themselves, at least,
I walked around the lonely beach,
And left blue coral at the feet of thieves.

They sold it to the locals for their trees.
And if I told you what that really means,
and what I'm really saying...
I think you'd find my statements full of grief.

You see, you still don't see, and must not read.
Where beads of water drop to stone,
and sell out at the mall,
when all they want to do is roam.

But this is all just me, you hear,
I hear you listening, or so it seems.
My voice can't bring itself to ever sing; and to me
sleep is never any more than dreams.

To me the special dies so unexceptional.
Reborn, rebooted, fruited like a vegetable -
a sprout that shoots out torrents of its light,
so bright the poor thing is not even sketchable.

Laugh heartily since hearts don't ever laugh,
and the act itself I'd qualify as laughable.
Where poets stood I carve myself as wood,
against their marble marvels call me passable.

Drink up the self, but not for better health,
you may as well just drink away the day.
And I know I will, getting dressed for death -
the same suit that I think I'll wear to play.

Or still I only say.

musical, awesome

surprised as always by the unexpected lines you string together...

I love this.

Thanks, ya'll.