not even laps of time would deter my images of your day,
thoughts of things you would say,
keep me distracted from going along my way.

the golden wheel of life spins at its own pace,
but that does not mean that it cant be slowed down.
humans are a very mysterious race,
and i will try to give you my run down.

Be ware my dears what you ask for,
because it will bring you way much more.
things you could not possibly ignore.

Way beyond the things you see or hear
things that are not so very clear.

There once was a show down
But nowhere near a town,
Nor between to equal men
But one man against out-laws in a den.

One was the King of the currumpaw
Lobo was his name,

Its those deapist, darkest, most horribly twisted memories that i hold dear to me.
They linger in my head like fog lifting early on a worm suny morning off a old pond.

Who knew one little flower
Would create such power,
In the hands of a man with a master plan!
Nevertheless, let it be none,
It is bad to the bone.
How that flower empowered a man.

i can hear it far off in the distant night
the loud and sobering cry's of some poor child
the sounds now express his never ending fright
what could have gotten his guardian so dam riled

The 44th President “one who is blessed” in Swahili,
Happens to love his wife’s Shrimp Linguini.
His desk, in the senate office once belonged to Robert Kennedy!

As my wings are clipped,
I sit grounded from flight.
As no songs leave my tree,
I don’t feel as if I have any mite.
You tell me what are fowl that can not fly?