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Categories Browse > Literature > Poetry > Satire > Fixed

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Thieves sure are a peculiar bunch With all treasures they have a hunch Mine or yours it does not matter Oh say, have you seen my silver platter? Filled with deceit and innocent lies They will steal right under your eyes And if caught they demand their due Since they were only keeping it safe for you!
Why, I say there is a perfect use For such villains so profuse As a man used to having no thanks Is just what we need to run our banks!

Window sills, all blue, all black, Joyous crows amidst the night. Hear the madman play his life, Praising lies, all truths denied.
Scattered, shattered, loved by none, Madmen screech and madmen run. Pity thrown in greyish cups, Cups of metal, cups of lusts.
Peace writhes deep among the living, Beckoning a scraggy child, His mind loosened through his being, His eyes shut to dreams of wild.
How he bluntly clutches faith, And he stares right at his strings, Lets them rot and lets them fall, Staying close behind the scenes.

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