Time slipping by like snapped rope
The box was empty, hope eloped
Circling time like a roundabout
I crash the wall, hit the dash and then flattened snout
Feeling like I have to stay inside, hide from a fatwa
Watching parties at distance like Gilbert Grape’s fat ma
All in all I’m like Aspinall, two minutes flat before a big man fall
No hope with dope but the smoke’s a mind moat
Lungs full with hot throat I’m writing nexts like god Thoth
Smote Balrog of Morgoth sack of Rome by Ostrogoths.
Alchemisland 
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