What kind of race, lack of direction Just how lunatic, to have a nature so deceit Bewail my reverie, a gambol untried Lure of carnality and silence in forfeit Animals, enslaved to pearls of fictionalized worth Creatures, born from caves into simulated mirth I'm talking, Idols of Chagrin Born of possession, complacement in disguise Craving and candid, as to defy the character's fall The kisses you drain, pedestrian pedigree What's thought is pain might be desire after all
