Rusted metal head my splintered morning wood garner,
I unearth my backyard without a peep from the childhood pets now owned by a farmer.
Nevertheless a howling wind opposes my venture,
For I discovered the Lazarus Pit when I set aside my childish ways.
This is what it’s like to set aside my childish ways.
Toys that once distracted me I now bury deeper into life.
An angel fell dead at my feet in the middle of the night.
The blinds casted forth black and white stripes on its ethereal form ‘fore moonlight.
I waited ’til the Sun reclaimed his throne and ’til a cat got my tongue, As if nothing in this world was any better in the midst of it all.
Ceasing such beauty must be better in the midst of it all.
Liquid gold I let exalt me I now bury deeper into life.
His name served no purpose now that his soul contract has expired.
I recall he hugged my knees to beg for me to play with him but I was so tired.
This shovel must be held with gardening gloves modeled after the desperate damsel ‘fore me;
Unkindly strown on calloused hands to get the job done right.
Bragging ’bout a dismembered servant to get the job done right.
Untold mystery I tend to share I now bury deeper into life.
Sacrifice is all it took to rid myself of such ridicule.
Bugs from animal carcasses attached themselves onto the toys and their cadaver who was mistaken for a fool,
‘Tis I, longing a mate to aid me in digging a grave that’ll someday be robbed.
Black sludge isn’t praised for it’s easier to digest.
Desire relapse every night thus far for it’s easier to digest.
Dreams I yearn to dream I now bury deeper into life.
Just as I predicted with dark magic I try to prove is real,
My toys and my precedence rose from Gaia in a way that made me glad of the other end of the deal.
It went too far, however, or perhaps not far enough.
Soulless solace didn’t repel the bugs that were found scavenging my past,
As if I have control of who was found scavenging my past.
There is no fear that let me die as I now bury deeper into life.
I asked my mother where do babies come from.
She told me a stork drops them off but she killed it because it was so dumb.
I never agreed with her ’til now.
Bringing children into this world should be a crime.
Madness and despair that makes up this world should be a crime.
Toys and angels are forfeited by a regretful child as I now bury deeper into life.
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Loneliness Isn't Real 