When you work it is musical, we are brainy and sane,
Don’t speak of sincerity when physics and astronomy.
The speaking child is a bored dilemma of straightness,
The path is gained from bored men who slam their tongues.
A pathway is the pathing-stone, the monster of the zone,
Licking the pies, offering the lies, seizing the size of our own.
An ant is allowed to comfortably hide, and we deserve the rights,
Of a foolish man and woman who describes the plot of that day.
My prison is like the Persian man, the managing king, the chief,
Whose glare is penniless, offering the mighty light off the head.
My heart is invisible due to the braising and roasting in this region,
A heated man is a solid man, of liquified heartiness and reign of a king.