They make me feel only what I let them only when I want to
Little do they know vice won't buy me pain asmuchas their virtues do
Sweetest memories been made in the palest train
Commuting under cover betwixt circles of hell
Tossing and flipping sanity for fantacies and mire
Crippling to ground the imbecile pony in the vilest measure
Unveiling would only ravel the painted visage in strings of satire
Dust o'er shards rendered, the wrath of churning wheels of time
Porcelain of a past that used to be sublime?
Unto the ears of sloth words of wisdom hemmed
In miles of miseries the wings of vanity were tamed.
Scavengers looming in merry circles afar
Nefarious notes closing nigh and n'er clear
Of a gale yet to be
A shower ought to be?