I dont know but i’ve been told,
that long ago my soul was sold.
I dont know who credits those,
who profits from those initial folds.
which sex or what the race,
whos profession or witch daughters face.
I can tell as shown to me,
that this all started over a cup of tea.
flabergasting globulating with loathed dispair,
plenty told me that wasn’t fair.
But as the realist sent fate bound,
they hate the fact I use my crown.
bounding, undulating – feature stuck,
bound to be caught in this timely ‘luck’.
hope, eternal, wheres the grace.
heaven help our global face.
springs from rings, its he who sings.
coming from a world of sins.
who rises, who falls,
whos with the deepest draws.
The game my friend is on the other side,
where fighting and crying, take place of pride.
come sit and let me think on it.
just bring the peace and my logistic fix kit.
Novel, stunning and totally hitch,
there no more downside that breaking the kitch.
so why live in that boring ditch,
come open your eyes, awake to the pitch.
Herman Hermanous & Utillian Symchar