Wont you come see me?
The cities stand up shouting
at the hollow jesters without name
echoing a thousand worded sigh
to twist and turn round towered thrones,
A world full of Kings
I cant remember the name
and they stand in monotonous lines
every face looks the same.
And with the ideas you thought you had once
simmer under the heated breath
of the mass collected no ones
they all look the damn same.
Im waiting for the road map
something to point the way
but the cities hold disguises I cant uncover
and the streets have no name.
They told me once in a whisper
that a poet and prophet are but the same
I asked for an example
but they couldnt give me a name.
I lied to authorities in retribution
and slanted a disguise toward the fools
asking every question they couldnt answer
and knowing the answers are all the same.
I want someone I dont have to speak to.