Wayward High.

The dark prince of wayward high,

Sinful silence tries to deny,

The world slips through his hand,

Reduced to sell in a newspaper stand,

As he tries to hold the world in his palms,

Knows its to be sold when the time comes,

Knows stories from these pages of time,

From here, sanity is a long climb,

The secrets of royalty,

Trade and taxes ... the swirls of frugality,

Enlightens and awakes the gentry from one-eyed rest,

But a fallen angel he can be called at best,

The ink inspires his dreams once a while,

In a torn and forlorn world, judgement is the thing to trial,

His lack not felt but his presence cant be undone,

Oh some live, some die all under the same Sun,

The knowledge transcends him to the next level,

But knowledge, like the rest, is a lawyer’s haggle,

And all this anguish portrayed through hilarity,

The headlines belong to things that are pretty,

We all know the rawness of life will soon indulge in a spree,

Races will still start at the count of three,

Black and white will get smudged and grey as they cry,

How much the world costs? ... Ask the dark prince of wayward high...