That little devil
Don't listen to it's words
It's candy tongue
Yet eyes so ill
Heed one note
And bring forth it's herd
Oh it's a torrent
An ebullition of demise
Self propagated
And sustained
How they seek to leave you lame
Tame the snake
And writhing sweet fork
And be not mesmerized by it's sport
That dangerous game
It's rochambeau
No merit or strategy
Merely speed and deceit
Their parlor tricks leave you weak
But listen to the light
That seeks to sear your plight
And burn said blight
Hitherto it was meek too
But let me carry it's voice to you
I shall fan the flames
And fuel your fire
For I hate to see you dire
Straighten out the straights of misfortune
For that canary yet still sings
A light from this tunnel you can bring
The only requirement, is to believe.
