Let them argue with their ale
You beauty is true and never stale.
You sound like the ease of Yale.
Canst you help score my bale.
I wonder to wander in all kabusa.
I sing and rule with you like Mufasa
Your glory is yet to be seen by NASA
For you're the truth that strike than lamasia.
Glow beauty glow, you won.
Sing darling sing, you we adorn.
Fly Nenny Fly, you're a song.
Let me love you in rhymes till dawn
Mufasa smiled at his eager young cub
Simba was a prince, but this meant nothing
at this second in the love of the moment
What do you see? Mufasa asked his son.
Pinks and yellows, tans, flowers, a meadow, the savannah
What feels does it bring to you?
Simba took a deep breath and let it out slowly
I feel peace, he told his daddy, the king
Mufasa knew that his son would do well
for he was not corrupted in any way,
he did not thirst for power or majesty like Scar
You are my son, he told him, and it makes me proud
Simba took another deep sigh,
breathing in the love of the savannah,
with no worries or cares, thinking he would have his father forever
The divorce rate has sent my self indulgent,
millennial heart into a tail spin,
and I'm unsure if love can subsist,
although I find myself lost on cloud nine.
What's the square root of two?
I bet it's not unity.
My brother made a run for the hills, chasing
metallic, white powder that was more enticing
then life could be.
I followed after him. Hopeful, yet stagnant.
In the end, I wish I could see him again,
but my poor millennial heart is lost
in how many likes I can get,
and bhakti chai tea.
Remember how Mufasa died?
I'll have better luck with strangers.
I haven't chased my brother since the last attempt.
I don't want to keep climbing back up over the ledge.
So keep smashing that bottle of your favorite,
cheap McCormick's over the head of your least
favorite employee, while mocking the rest of us
for our lack of ethic in the work place.
We only just spent thirty-five thousand dollars to earn a piece of paper,
saying we can do what we don't have experience in.
My poor millennial heart.
Prejudged, but I'll keep my head down,
so I'll never have to hear about how bad
socialism,
immigrants,
or Planned Parenthood is,
ever,
again.
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