Raindrops to moonlight To harvested fields, Wind blown madness and half-battled shields. I walk with my blinders I look straight ahead And half emptied glasses are better off wet. It’s springtime in Paris When love wafts in, And wine glasses clinkin’ Are signs there’ll be sin. One can only hope For that great remedy, Be it lustful illusions As seen on TV. Happy go lucky As hearts skip a beat, The illustrious outcome Just reeks of defeat. When the curtain descends And the houselights robust, The notion of love fades To the passions of lust.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Jun 2013 04:03:36 +0000
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