LYRIC

You see me hang my spirits high

My dirty linen’s out to dry

I’ve sought not freedom nor espy

Placating reason in the rhyme

A vindication of my crime

To ridicule the most sublime

Is an art I wish to kill

Now I’m crowning new dementia

With the thorns of yesterday

Liaising pandora

Laureate of disarray

Each eye through blindness finds its sight

Each peak through valleys finds its height

Each wrong through nil can make a right

For nil will excavate that strain

Nor subjugate the caustic pain

The linen doused within the rain

Again and again and again…

Now I’m crowning new dementia

With the thorns of yesterday

Liaising pandora

Laureate of disarray

And I’m breathing in absentia

Through the thorns of every day

Liaising pandora

As I drink the guilt away

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