No idea whatsoever.

Contorted, is she the blanket or rage?
The kettle or black?
Not so sure yet the jotter stays jotting
it down on page. Catastrophe animated in
the eye of the one-eyed pirate
casting his shadow over her shoulder
as he watches her write
his treasured story.

The foul play games with the victorious.

Sifted, could I be a contortion or the blanket?
The kettle or black?
Undecided on the black book covered in scrawl,
poor Hamlet. Rage was inanimate from
the wall as it crumbles. Berlin
is screaming
and it watches as she writes
it's catastrophic story.

Life's too short to be vacant on a plane.

but what am i actually saying
writing words from the head
that speak quick like a typewriter half way to being dead
waiting as a fighter
not sleeping there's no time
sleeps for the weak and the weak are out of line
breaking away just because we can
no ignoring it now
there's a way
there's a plan
and a plane can take me away
with pen, paper, CV
as a key to my destiny
the best way to be free
but when i'm bringing it back
to the basics you'll see
nothing ever made sense
alice's wonderland for me.
As madness is for the candid
and wit is for the wise
I've said it before
so the blind can see with their eyes
and the deaf can hear with their ears
and the mute can speak with their tongues
Unafraid now to do as we've done.

So take me to your leader,
the mute are ready to speak.