The Gardener

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I'm a rancid red gardener
Of the lancing octet
And through the art of desperation
I have managed to collect
On the elephant tight rope
Severed sapling stand in file
As the hushed tenor mopes
And the orchids compile

I shoot looks through dry wall
And throw shade to my beds
In a hopeless endeavor to shield better ends
White hot stones touch my souls
They've found me at last
Seventeen decades elapse

I'm a rancid blue diver
Of the growing undead
And through the art of enjoyment
I have managed to skin
Yellow feathers off all of the
Coal mine crawlers
And drape them over my
Liver and shins

I shoot looks through dry wall
And throw shade to my beds
In a hopeless endeavor to shield better ends
Oh it comes and it goes
They all crumble so fast
A million centuries elapse

Welcome to this garden
I exist just as meat
We grow legs and short orders
And backwards running feet
We grow eyelids and follicles
And tall spines prevailed
Sewing pieces together
As to wither is to fail
There are no returns
For you're whats for sale

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