He was bleeding rage,
Crying isolation across the lake,
Such a good looking guy,
Never thought about until he saw seduction rise,
For even the weaker have gone ahead...
Who would have thought about his protuberant vain?
Today he's alone facing the wrath of the rain,
His laughter leads him to sly love,
His baritone voice voice leads them damsels to alive and kicking lust,
Now he dwells in a distorted city,
He masked this royal parade...
He wants water,
Maybe a little slaughter,
He wants to seize time,
This ignominious sadist wants a sonnet that rhymes,
He wants some elevation,
But did he know he grew fond of monotony?
Picture from the net- ( flickr.com)
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Groove to the era