|
Darkened Toy
The days go by when the weather begins to turn
Slowely the door has closen,
When one thought another could learn;
Their mistakes are easily chosen.
In the hand of the dark lord;
Blazing heat remains unbarring,
When people shout "No more!";
No one could be of hearing.
Gas piles high into the air,
The angels cry on we;
clouds puff wildly like hair,
As the light has dimmed on me.
The lock has been placed upon the door,
As if cadging a animal in;
Slaughtering the helpless poor,
With a laugh that never ends.
We are toys filled with no true trust;
For someone rather dark is playing with us.
 OoxBonboriChanxoO · Tue Jul 03, 2007 @ 08:55am · 0 Comments |
