Jester

Collab.



If luck were a lady, what colour of dress would she wear?
make-up or not, black or red-coloured hair?
gambler or risk taker - are those butterflies or bees?
only fifty at the time; young and in love.


Houses of cards and odds and ends,
mutual: I feel the same way too,
that birds can sing and the best kids are fruits;
those wedding bells are ringing,
but they sound like gunshot salutes.


Matrimony and wedlock, arrested and developed -
the key to your heart is an autopsy,
or a diamond or ruby gem -
this postcard's from the Atlantic
where the angel's can't swim.


After the afterglow of the alphabet dissipates,
agnosticism and you can unite in dystopia,
but where is that, one might ask?
drowning in the Atlantic, with the angels.


Summertime and sunshine, dancing in the sea,
k-i-s-s-i-n-g
first comes blue, then comes yellow,
then comes a postcard,
straight from the meadow.


If nature was a mother, how many kids would she have?
would she be an alcoholic apathetic?
If you were to ask the dying,
your answer would be split.