Wandering questions once in a while in my mind found,
An oasis in which they rest and recuperate new meanings,
Of romance and find a new path unknown to my soul,
Those paths I venture not as none shown a way to your soul.
The distractors, Ah’, they come costumed in colors sparkling,
Half naked, Oh’, they auction their God-given grace,
Then there are those who protest without any grace,
Searching for their souls back in the past of life they sold to devil.
The scavengers, Ah’, they come well-trimmed, well-built in style,
None knows much about these descendants of the fallen Angels,
They aim not in the pleasures of life, they destroy the glow of souls,
And those souls join those who protest without any grace.
The true lover smiled and wakes up his undeterred soul,
He writes his soul in verses that imaged love in his lady’s image,
The crowds of descendants of fallen Angels and protesters grew,
And lost in there somewhere the image of his love.
His voice he himself heard not as in the wild celebrations,
Lost his wonderful verses and alone into polar-vortex he walked,
The rights and wrong doesn’t matter anymore to his soul,
As all he felt was the dance of teardrops in his eyes.
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