Text
If I could capture this rapture,
In a series of scripts,
That could prescribe enough lies,
For these few scribblings to hit,
A few chords, like a sword,
It pierces the very midst,
Of my body, it’s got me,
In a daze, quite a twist,
Grab the lighter for the writer,
Inside me has just slipped,
The pleasure, can’t be measured,
As a leper, it has gripped,
On my being, I am speeding,
To end, like the Titanic,
And so these waves, through the days,
Push me gently to my crypt.