Dreamland poet

There I go look around. off to dreamland I can be found.

Don’t worry about me, I’m alright, definitely nothing is keeping me up all night.

No lies, no deceit, no distractions abound. Just gate keeping here will be found.

All locked in a box, there’s a cat you see.

Most say it’s a self-inflicted wound, just between you and me.

Blood! Guts! Carnage Galore! But where’s the wound I do implore?

Tickle me, Tickle me, Tickle me deep. God knows I ain’t one of those sheep.

Come what may, come what might there’s some fairy dust out here tonight,

There are all these words, these words you say but no real information flows my way.

For whosoever shall be found, that whistle blower isn’t round.

The case for me isn’t cheap, but it does take a very big leap.

The information that is the key is hidden under a rock held by a bee.

But what bee is this? Once again gatekeepers in our miss.

Diversion, tricks, and lust… are a necessity for getting what we must.

For nothing we want is humane, decent, and honorable you know..

because money, money, money is what makes the raven crow.






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