DOA: On the Train to Sane

Bushwhack theory, alone
Sits on an idle train
Derailed, but never prone
The detained might refrain

Regard, an old veteran
Solemn, in a fight to gain
A truly fluxed lexicon,
Knowledge, insight contained

He’ll attempt to slam Goliath
As if his height’s the same
Not exempt to stand in triumph,
Paid off the price of fame

Against impossible apostles,
Who are a blight on stains
Mess with the elements, awful
Maneuvering kites in rain

Talking snakes, with answers
Meant to entice the vain
Fed pronged-silver, backwards
That’s a sight to maim

Psyches, the fright of dames,
And waifs, that are slight of frame
On the brain, like spiked cocaine
And that’s truly quite the shame

They might complain,
Only serves to incite the bane
That’s the hand of the master
Trying to bite the slave

Pummel that ruffian, suitable
And he might grow tame
Humbled ruler becomes pupil
Target of spiteful aim

Such a delightful game
Hiding inside of caves
So they choose this infection
Why invite the strain?

The vices boomerang often
Docked, despite the drain
Sticking digits into sockets
Shocked, in a flight of pain

It’ll explode like microwaves
Colliding with bright propane
Subsequently, tailored
By tranquil nights of rave

Now zealots who relished,
Embellished, proclaimed domains
And dominion, over minions
Can only complain, profane


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