Rancor’s Spectral Tune


Propagate, procrastinate, appropriate, me.

For I am so… easily misled.

To the voices in my head.

Mine is a town of vast wonder.

But the needle and the spoon plunder.

The incarceration has begun for some.

And, so with the moment of morn’s blue sky…

It has begun.

I lack in luster what others call muster.

Only an ambiguous soul.

Life has taken its toll.

Yet, I will sit and wait over fields of green.

Holding fast to all the beauty I have seen.

Hand me your rake and I will deserve.

All that inebriates have heard.

Beyond the bottle, the needle, the spoon.

An artificial high on top of rancor’s spectral tune.

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