At the Moment All of Our Spots Are Filled

Have you ever wondered, after broken dreams and bitter clouds all the jesters in their corner waiting patiently around. so alone but not forgotten, words are scribed on fickle stone when your dead and all is gotten, all forgotten left alone used to be a pretty portrait now the paint dripped down the wall halls of black and rooms of blue the debtors noose around you soon yet he seeks no compensation only one for there is room where you entered you will exit, where you walked the sand will fill yet this soothes me for the moment, yellow omens on the hill disappearance desperation inclination for the last these tears of empty sadness with them all I fill my glass. some things left best forgotten, not all lives are ment to live but yet the ending never changes like a clock with broken hands I have contemplated both but for one I am inclined I was born not of my choosing but my death shall be of mine. so where is this all going, rowing sleepily along bring your oars up out the water for the waves are much too strong and the wind is blowing harshly while the water sings a song