a blank slate is so condemning because it holds every word.
we are precise in our dealings yet our spirit is never heard.
hearken unto the calamities, can you hear their precious ring.
sing along with the devils and make step with the dead.
speak unto the masses that fill us all with dread.
we conceal ourselves wisely, we play our tunes: prestine.
these dismissals we have come to achieve are nothing short of a dream.
in our prime we are gorgeous, in our death we are beautiful still.
let us watch the story unfold as we bend and break their wills.
the world as we know it is lovely, the world we can make is lovely all the more.
without their egotistical dealings they are unaware of what to store.
look at us now if you can see us, imagining the clouds as if on land.
but the clouds are swept away again by such a dictating hand.
we the dreamers hold the remedies, we lovers lead the lame.
we penman love the issues, amelioration put to shame.
our availability is endless, our schedules white as night.
we dance around the wicked, we see clearest in the blight.