What dost thee say for thee selves naive fleet of men,
sailing away on a ship. Distraught over love lost, in the deep sea of love
and despair. In looking past the nine doves of truth and happiness,
one must look a bit deeper into the pond of life.
What does the pond hold,
answeres one would rather not know.
Staying faithful holds no vindictication
to a mans wild furtile nature.
In recieving his jollies, his testes are bitten through by the worms of deciet,
but sweet to a man knowledge land straight past the bosom of his closets mistress.
How can that be, said seven shy maidens, when my bosom is right straight in front of me?
Oh the perponderance of thought as melodic as toads croaking in the night.
Wast arms do not lie to decieve but a dream?
Of wanton lovers that have turned to shawdows,
that only I see.
The breath I breathe does not seem fresh, but of a narrow sense of insane dummies
that I have entrusted with my youth.
They seem to matter much not in the sense of what I can trust,
but obviously they take up much character in the mistakes I mistook.
Those obvious influences, and thus my good looks.
What was written as poety and wisdom, has forsaken all of my naivete.
I have salvaged myself to warn others of the damages of false loves hook.
Nature blossoms, but my seed has sped,
and many frogs are speaking to princesses to thee I should wed.
The minstrels blend together to speak in false tongue, upon believing what is "not said".
If one should apologize acquit himself of his true lies, then false hoods he not spent, should pay for his reprise.
Bite the serpents tail, hence forth the circle of life,
one at the ankel, one at the heel, is all that Oeidpus mistook.
But all was true, by phrophetess and soul Sybil belief,
If told a riddle upon what foundation does it reap?
Is the truth, forbid not the tailored lies can fit a king.