deepundergroundpoetry.com
Will there be Peace
The cobbled streets in the city of spires,
a mundane morning yet the charm inspires
the high streets of glory, stories of rivendale
It’s just a fantasy, of a young man and his fairy tale
On a grayish day, the perched goblin has its eyes stray
and the crazy faces on the walls hiding away, not to become a prey
they young man walks, cherishing that gloomy day
as he meets a women that was sweeping his feet away
an ordinary folk would imagine that it’s the poetry of bard
cryptic writings upon the Turl is not taking their worlds apart
but to the river of Magdelin, to rent a long boat with a punt
where lovers knock on each other, with a pint after a duck hunt
such was the craziness living with the spires in the shire
green meadows with the summers breeze, train ride to Wiltshire
when Gandalf and Dumbledore, were dancing on the corridor
a drunk Mary Poppins was hopping from door to door
The Turl and the Turf, was a walk away from the Head of the River
Eagle and Child and the Kings Arms was cold and gave the shivers
None of these made any sense and I’m having a very high fever
Aches and pains, my energy is totally drained, will I recover
reality is a turd and nothing about it is actually absurd
its life throwing you punch, and a sucker punch, yet it’s not weird
and the peaceful world comes tumbling down and gets shattered
droplets of rain, freezing over on its way down, and my world is battered
the high street’s serenity disappears, an anarchy appears
at the frontiers of a wet market, the craziness of the asymptomatic racket
bootlegging and smuggling the wild animals are playing croupiers
letting the chaos erupt yet protecting those in the elitist bracket
was it a bat or a rat and yet it germinates with the pangolin
hot scotch and rum, a deadly mix when you play the violin
a contraband in a holiday van, yet no one understands
Yet at the wet market, where they all took a stand
It’s not just a cold Ms Marygold, it’s a virus that can kill us
empire of the sun or twenty one, the planet in 3 months was on its knees
Submitting to an invisible enemy that everyone knows it dangerous
But I am still concerned, after all of this, will the world remain in peace?
a mundane morning yet the charm inspires
the high streets of glory, stories of rivendale
It’s just a fantasy, of a young man and his fairy tale
On a grayish day, the perched goblin has its eyes stray
and the crazy faces on the walls hiding away, not to become a prey
they young man walks, cherishing that gloomy day
as he meets a women that was sweeping his feet away
an ordinary folk would imagine that it’s the poetry of bard
cryptic writings upon the Turl is not taking their worlds apart
but to the river of Magdelin, to rent a long boat with a punt
where lovers knock on each other, with a pint after a duck hunt
such was the craziness living with the spires in the shire
green meadows with the summers breeze, train ride to Wiltshire
when Gandalf and Dumbledore, were dancing on the corridor
a drunk Mary Poppins was hopping from door to door
The Turl and the Turf, was a walk away from the Head of the River
Eagle and Child and the Kings Arms was cold and gave the shivers
None of these made any sense and I’m having a very high fever
Aches and pains, my energy is totally drained, will I recover
reality is a turd and nothing about it is actually absurd
its life throwing you punch, and a sucker punch, yet it’s not weird
and the peaceful world comes tumbling down and gets shattered
droplets of rain, freezing over on its way down, and my world is battered
the high street’s serenity disappears, an anarchy appears
at the frontiers of a wet market, the craziness of the asymptomatic racket
bootlegging and smuggling the wild animals are playing croupiers
letting the chaos erupt yet protecting those in the elitist bracket
was it a bat or a rat and yet it germinates with the pangolin
hot scotch and rum, a deadly mix when you play the violin
a contraband in a holiday van, yet no one understands
Yet at the wet market, where they all took a stand
It’s not just a cold Ms Marygold, it’s a virus that can kill us
empire of the sun or twenty one, the planet in 3 months was on its knees
Submitting to an invisible enemy that everyone knows it dangerous
But I am still concerned, after all of this, will the world remain in peace?
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