Burning bridges ascend upon a world in a trance. Few understand with an abundance of false pleasures in hand. A few doves fly, is that peace. Shots are heard, they die. Not a mortal soul cries. I try,but I'm hungry can I get a piece. An Angel is sad, "they're dead", she said.
It's morbid, I know. Kind of insane like the rain that trickles from my brain. It comes from the Angels above that are tearing blood. Dripping to my face. They say hell comes after fire and brimstone. Well he'll is here. The stone of brim must have been thrown into another zone. A place of television fantasies or such bull. Now I envy weedheads, wish I could get a pull. Take me away Mrs Calgon. A Nuclear wasted ocean boils. Holding a coiled serpent, I think I'll dive in. I'm done.