In the light of the moon,
A smoke in my hand,
Dark figures sway in tune,
Play in bliss in their land,
Which are ready to blow town,
Takes away more than it serves,
Nothing could sew the threads of my sacrificial gown,
A lungful of sorrow precedes the poison,
Hard to discover when the power’s too close,
Once more to treason, all for no reason,
Is what I drift in, was what they chose,
Murky lives and sinful strifes,
Daunts and preys upon our lives,
Too keen on watching the scene of fate,
Seems to play with good and evil in a higher state,
Since the rise, I’ve been torn apart,
In the valley of shadows, they’ll roam,
The target’s all still, who throws the dart,
Because the hero suffers from Mitty syndrome,
Here and there, pieces of a grand puzzle,
That makes up my universe,
In the softness of a slight drizzle,
That rhymes in time’s every verse,
And the light in my hand,
The smoke hiding the moon,
Sway to the music from a foreign land,
As I lose myself at the shores of its tune...
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