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My passions burn so hot and bright
But they will never last the night
The tinder catches all too quick
And shrivel like a broken wick
Devotion medicates the art
To which I dedicate my heart
But I’m a slug of lethargy
So sad to waste an apple tree
The verse is halting, rhyme is coarse
It’s like an aged racing horse
Who hasn’t seen the track in years
Who’s dry and stale behind the ears
The ivory and ebony
Will whisper of a symphony
That waits to spill forth from the strings
But I could never play such things
The poet hangs, the player rots
And all the watchers cast their lots
On who will be the next to bate
The wick that next will burn and break
- by Wicker Chair |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 11/19/2009 |
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- Title: Candle
- Artist: Wicker Chair
- Description: Yet another expression of my artistic falling out.
- Date: 11/19/2009
- Tags: candle
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