Smoking Coffin
The smoking coffin
Tell tales of his sins
As he descends bellow
Through the aisle of sorrow
He painted pictures in our hearts
With bleeding bets of arts
So, here we mourn, hiding our smiles
In the coruscating images of tearful eyes
Yesterdays, he birthed our actions
When he bruised the tongues of our redemptions
With his withered wits and colon of greed
Conscripting us, forcefully, to the feet of his creed
Fake your tears and smile with me
We are innocent and we are free
Nature has spoken for the daughters of all
Dotting her footprint of hyphen in the songs of owl
Waging the workers of her farm
With shards of cakes and shocking calm
Reminding us of the coffin's fate
And the face of the man we hate.