I think of myself Wilde, yet my work is so tame,
You know that I would and could sell all your souls for fame.
Despite the bloody awful poetry and through the darkened mist,
You know that the scars were left from the lips that I have kissed.
You
could crown the lovers and then blow them all down...
You can huff and you can puff, as long as you make a sound.
There’s a certain flicker in your eye that screams of a genius,
But it's your repulsive pretension that renders it all meaningless.
Now let us hear it for the narcissist who invests too much into himself,
I hope you like the sound of the pottery that's falling down the shelf,
Oh, how one human being can devote a life to such dire art,
Oh, how can he live with a stone in place of a heart?
I would like to live like a wild child, but I'm oh so lame...
I don't care much for pleasure or your twisted game.
The only thing I have left is a bruised ego and my sanity,
But as it turns out, I'm a slave to my own vanity.
So let's shout it once more for the man on the tallest hill,
Let us all chant it together, so we can get our fill.
"Talent borrows, genius steals",
Withdraw your swords, it's a deal.
Originally Posted On Site: 2011-12-22 14:38:34
Last Login: 12.22.11
Visits as of 12-12-07: 36
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