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Whenever I'm Beautifully High,
I love 2 Fly,
& Levitate,
Around the Town,
But my Face always carries
A Contorted Frown,
When
I'm
Coming
Down,
All men Morph into Vicious
Vultures, Rats, Hyenas, & Bugs!
& Even the Gentlest of Women,
Resemble the
Grimey-ist of Thugs!
When
I'm
Coming
Down,
I descend from a
Holy Level,
& Enter an Earthly Prison
of the Devil!
& all of my Sweet Music Mutates,
into Distortion,
& Reality Kills my Buzz with An Abortion!
& All of thee Impossible,
that Earlier seemed so Possible,
Drifts, & Slowly slips away,
& It's usually when,
Miss Full Moon Hides,
& Mr.Sun, & His Barking Band of Birds,
Come out 2 Play! ? !
By: St. Sir Michael Manners 2006
St.Sir Michael Manners
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