Hand like a bee that stings to the touch,

Mouth like a serpent when you wish it good luck.

The body of a monster when it sees itself,

Creative minds locked in a bookshelf.

The growl of a lion as it hunts its prey,

Like the victims of murder who have no say.

A scratch of a pen as the celebrities sign,

Forced a certain life to stay in line.

A drool of hunger for the starving mind,

Ravaging food like one of a kind.

Brains exploding unlimited facts,

Belts around wrists to punish the slack.

Listen so softly to the flute of tunes,

Like the Pied Piper sinking many moons.

One more step until finishing dry land,

The first place who died at stinging hand.

Stoned and beaten as we flee on,

Dancing like Druids to an unfamiliar song.

Skies are brewing as we follow the storm,

Taming its monster that starts to transform.

But whoever we are, we travel on in time,

Rain or wind as we mount the spitfire climb.

Just one more journey until we all but cough,

Sinking below sunrise in a life so soft.