Strange

They wailed and cried of the horrors
It's the fall of the last great empire
The last visions of paradise on fire
Put the glass down exit through the swinging doors

They call that who is a poet strange
To a closed and simple mind it bores
He who loves words, sentences he adores
It's a lonely fight in a mind so deranged

To write sweet poetry crying in pain
Ghosts of the past peek through the shadows
Blood drips down the rope in the gallows
The cleansing of the soul beneath the rain