There is a crime more perfect than the rest
as the clouds begin to smudge the gold bequest
and as the ash falls and midnight in day does set
somehow the sun conjures great regret
on itself it begins to lay the blame
severely tarnishing its own name
I am not bright enough
I do not warm
and soon the neurons start to swarm
to hold a truth which isn’t true and then the crime, cleared to ensue without any other even there corruption rampant to ensnare havoc falsity blizzarding down until that bright warmth transforms the frown for when from unseen we begin to see in that moment intruder ceases to be and then the thought is no longer me I am free don’t you love the way that still you have a say even in the midst of madness there is so much more than sadness and from the beginning the thief was always grinning.