You're tired of studying the spring?
Rise above that and learn to swing.
It's oscillatory motion, you bum,
The science of the pendulum.
I powerfully doubt,
If you wont be soon out:
At this decided pace,
The lion humble in a race;
(Unless you court a banned steroid
That the living enables to act Humanoid
For , indeed, l’ve seen you gallop
But at a speed for your sure wallop
Your morale above fifty percent,
Still a far cry from lion’s ninety nine percent!
Many things now wasting your gains,
Your naivety helping the pains.
Then, comes the bundle between your thigh:
Your ever spinning scrotum deaf to “why?”
Ceaselessly, The Oscillatory,
In smell cheap to every Olfactory:
A Never–To–Retire Sex Tool
That steadily makes you a fool,
Certain now via the lion’s Paws
To catapult you to death’s jaws…
More chances oblige you to sorrow.
Than ones of grazing tomorrow.
Fragmenting the oscillatory destiny, bounding amongst damnation. Tyranny divine
halts a bullet mid shot to incite havoc throughout your skull, slowly dissolving reality.
Beneath a sensuous veil the vivisection allures a prophetic dissociation. A cryptic
dissension of virtues hidden, poisoning infecting scathing. All angles considered yet
am I trapped willingly?
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