Scythe
Scythe
On two, only you
And the extravaganza
Part implore, wicked lore
Every color, to originate
Or is it designation
Peach to the rot, keys to the lot
Untying celestial guesses
In the mark of motion horror
Some vein in the bull of lurch
To a mother in the insect sky
Warrant to the chains
Such one the pot to the island of a rib
And met the bearing of scorn
Who is magistrate of pointed skill
Dreams calling to the rise of bones
And corners are hardest to clean
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