Royal Crowns & Bloody Hounds
A clit, a hole, a royal crown,
A rose with thorns and bloody hound.
The sky is blue, the ground is grey,
A drawing in a stale decay.
A chalice filled with bitter wine,
A tale of love that’s misaligned.
A feeling that just won’t belong,
A moon that’s pale and lost its glow.
A clock that ticks but tells no time,
A twisted, gnarled, soulless rhyme.
