Black Tuesday
.
Dividing lines beyond the gray;
Lovers smelling dead bouquets,
A sense of solace, can’t convey
Grief and morning won’t allay;
The devil’s laughing at dismay
As reality our dreams betray
Casting them in disarray;
Perhaps this hell we may delay
But it would a false display,
Seeking solace from cliché.
In the end, we cannot stray
From rigor mortis, swift decay.
The hunter has become the prey;
Life, the dimming ash within the tray.
And it’s been a black Tuesday.
Lovers smelling dead bouquets,
A sense of solace, can’t convey
Grief and morning won’t allay;
The devil’s laughing at dismay
As reality our dreams betray
Casting them in disarray;
Perhaps this hell we may delay
But it would a false display,
Seeking solace from cliché.
In the end, we cannot stray
From rigor mortis, swift decay.
The hunter has become the prey;
Life, the dimming ash within the tray.
And it’s been a black Tuesday.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment
You've found your way inside my head and now there's no way out!