[Intro]
Lend me your love again, there I go, drown in need of dreams, hey lets pretend. No need for a weapon but a pen against odd winds. Look what I've done, I'll sing for eternity. No doubt, do readjust the gimmickry.
[verse]
A booked voice into the starry night for your sake, verily not fake, lets play at stake. Pockets of fear had blind and grim, stars rescind to entertain a withered move of my make. By the time I could take the call, til I should make a silly six feet fall, the dying hunger of mine resolve; foolery's fable have persuade away the painless fractal fog. So real is the deal of surreal, the animosity of 2-D take to flight by design, a sight of them bumblebees. Make amend. In the end, satire is the better friend.
[chorus] O hey Mother Goose, the days of songs are bitter soothe. If I were to digitize tonight, oblivious have shew the seeds of light, then kindly lend me your love, a cove of rhyme. One fettering smile abound in the den of thieves until the end is so bittersweet.
[post-chorus] No world knows, prithee, my name had trodden, a digit of validity upon degrees. A topple fight in the moonlit shine; sea ridden of this naked mind. Oh my, get isekai!
[verse] Forty-Winks. Travel and be safe these strange dreams of ours; pry feeling build into those wicked sen-nights. The same again bade, am I utterly a tool? Never had I bother to fend against the bitter fools; to just trade, divide, O fight against the dying moon. Do readjust the gimmick and don't rig my rig psuedo move. One chop, two slaps, so hard, so brethren aligned and thrown into the zoo. A ballad battle of the senses in truth within the morning hue.
[verse] A solidarity made behind the hazel shade, Silver and pens, no lie, such a lucky dime as such as I, highly are our finds are intertwine. No doubt, grief upon the soul so good. Yea, bleedin rhyme. Tonight's February train, satire have grown and rain, six feet of greater pain. My shallow deep from what one reep. Chatter had sowed our insanity; a resonance in vanity.
[chorus] O hey Mother Goose, the days of songs are bitter soothe. If I were to digitize tonight, oblivious have shew the seeds of light, then kindly lend me your love, a cove of rhyme. One fettering smile abound in the den of thieves until the end is so bittersweet.
[post-chorus] No world knows, prithee, my name had trodden, a digit of validity upon degrees. A topple fight in the moonlit shine; sea ridden of this naked mind. No sacrifices for you!
[verse] Yo, come on buddy, whine bout the folly poor man's abode so mother goldy can douse them to fourty-four, too slow. How reveal is the veil inside the limit it goes. Pull out your wording, it might be hurtin', that beauty bout them flows; involvement, fightin, where has the fig tree fallen? About them, O riddle me batman the sources of your victims ever so chillin before the morning, finding true cringe on the frail of reality. Make amend. In the end, satire is the better friend.
[outro] Oh hey, mother goose.