Tony Robbins,Bf Skinner and the Muse

Nighttime, the muse is tangled in the talon of riots catching bricks to the head- mace to the eyes- Come morning it sips unholy cups of politics heavily sweetened with the latest deadly virus- Noontime it wears a brooding- grimacing mask it's very breath under the most vicious attacks- Its spending more time in its darkened cave 9 mm alpha dreaming of an omega escape- Now it'll only listen to T. Robbins and B.F Skinner slowly become a braying-blue ribbon beggar.