the book of brian

as the servant of the bones walks to the throne
,and the queen dances her fake dance and the jester cries for laughter
the court sways and the wizard for bodes disaster
,the dragon rears its fiery head,as it senses the dread that the psychadelic knight feels
as he pulls the sword ,and brandishes the sheild
that will never protect him from the reptilian claws,whose nails beat  an even rythum of death,
 as they cross the court yard of lifes ever expanding complexities
,destroyed by the desire to build the hell of utopian  lust, upon the numbed up brain of the youthful  craving of the sexual desire of a perverted window
,into the bedroom of a long legged whore tanned by the erotical pulsating light of a false sun
, shining into a barren desert of stench filled rotted fruit, that the worm crawls from to look you in the eye,
 and then slither into the hole that sexy alice stumbled into and became one with a world that dwelled only in the imagination of a fairytale king
,who rules only to be robbed of the crown of thorns he refuses to wear
,to the ball of skeletoned closets that are hidden from the light of day,
only to be released as midnight falls once again at 3 am