Pumpkin Spice

Taurus field makes the ghost.
An evil laugh.
Souls who roast.
October night,
Moon in the sky.
Dreamers lost in a lullaby.

Fate comes to harvest the rye.
Grains of sorrow, that multiply.
The taco shell,
So crunchy and dry.
The forbidden fruit.
Hidden inside.

The spicy congregation,
Amongst the coast.
The Brookshire train wreck.
Victims tied to a post.
An exhilarating sensation.
While the mannequins pose.
The godless ritual,
Of being betrothed.

The pumpkin ripened in a pie.
A soul that sunk alone,
In the ocean of the sky.
A repetitive echoing microphone.
Of crying beasts,
Lost inside their home.

A harvest moon blossoming like a rose.
A message to the fry.
Little fishes accepting the current flows,
Oblivious to the crocodiles eyes.
On the stage, the play that shows,
With actors that are weak and shy.
Are harvesting the pumpkin rows.
The victims of the lie.