For Every Storm
For every storm there is a room
And find the palace now,
From deserts are a tomb and gloom,
Where clothes must just allow.
The clothing kisses us on cheek,
When effort made us worse,
The cloth we wear is rather chic,
And worry is a curse.
The storm shall grow at all the speed
That problems make us mad,
You did not follow, or then bleed
As madness is your dad.
Ape Is Him
One ape is applied to the masses,
Simple seasons twirl around the masses,
And the tasks of a matter are complete.
The apes of primitive ages are considerate
To the masses who help out the ordinary,
Any monkey will collapse into a spy.
The espionage of the realm they call beasts