The heat falls on my shoulders, you just stand as i burn to ash
You know I would die for you in here, you just sit in my chair and call it your throan, jester of your court--I transform your highness
the words fall out, but they have no meaning, not as if it wasn't like this before
you light your candles, I follow you in, wherever you might take me, it sure as hell beats this
my step father never liked me anyways, though i guess it's just nature, no chance in hell for feline fickle friend, top of the hour calls for a solution to my indicative doubt and then...
and then what? i guess just another drag out by the tail, and its wine and supper for all the elves and hoov-footed quail.
So as the swine say, "not time for you to speak!" Level head with gavel, and call it a night for me
Asian stewart with your lisp and lowered chin, please don't feel offended if I brand your silver skin, with sickle and sithe I find that a number has now been called: 309, 314, now five and fourty three. | 
