Mad Song

U GOT TO READ THIS : A CLASSIC STYLE OF POEM

Night is bright, the cloud don’t shine Stars silhouette the sun dare whine Moon peeps through the celestial divine Befells to dotage at vespers nine. In a cruse of cockle pottage, Of the lordly lofts of bedlam Of pigs, betwixt cradle and grave Decides to pork or ham. Of flocks of sheep gay and merry Succumb to solitaire ham. All eat fast, clean and neat Cease to breathe when moulded meat. All I sing is a mad song On the road so weird and long

This is the destined night for me To raise the toast for world to see. Dinners set and table cry Cut the adder and fish to fry Chicken runs from butchers knife Run out of options, the immolating strife The pork, the toad, the duck to bake But take less time for “Heavens Sake” I wont ask u all again This is the night I owe to my dame. I am tired and lost in the waste Haven’t slept since the Conquest The Conquest devoured the fusillade All I remember the arms were laid Somebody won, and left thee dead The pursuer the pursuit drenched with red. And I sing the mad song On the road so weird and long

Its time to shake and wake her up She likes what me make and all she sup. But she not moves as she always does Am I drab, she always loves? The last I asked the first I lied She never makes me wrong To turn the lie to palsy truth, she will die And leave the sorrow to my song Now she moves picks her favourite newt I let her in her shoes, on toes pirouette The cactus sing, the night ding-ding The colossal sand coquette desert They waited long for this flirt. As I sing the mad song On the road so weird and long

Now we are tired cos oft we sleep Run out of chance, either me or she She fear goblin, ere waked Swelter’d her, the heavens fake, She is cold, ablaze the farms, Me bring earth down to make her warm But of no use, has no desire The blazing sun or glowing fire. Now I see her women with terrible tongue Blear eyes fallen from blue The impossible beauty lost “but not for long Since she was better than any of you. She looks the same for last six months Smells divine like holy wine I cannot write because she died And words don’t die, I rhyme I looked at her she stared at me I would burry her tomorrow. And I sing the mad song On the road so weird and long.