Tweedle Deedle

Tweedle deedle mister mockingbird.
Your hands are crimson blue.
Your heart is rusted shut.
Your mouth is made of clues.

Tweedle deedle
My pictures painted red.
But it is not paint
That drips that crimson muck.

Tweedle Deedle
My stories tips dry.
It sags and sifts
Like an ocean of sand.
Or an ocean of body bags.

Tweedle deedle
Mister rapest.
Beware the jibbering of the crow.
It knows the foundation of the soul.
And will drag you
To that dark place if it can.

Tweedle deedle eddle.
Mister shadow face.
Your like the cat with broken insides.
Like a baby screaming underwater.
A death rattle for the down-syndromed.

Tweedle deedle mister mockingbird.
Your eyes are crimson blue.
Your heart is rusted shut.
Your mouth is made of clues.
Let me sow it for you.