The Troubadours Manipulation Poem by Marko Mohac

Be thrown
I have changed my music twice
Yet your eyes still itch like rash
Printed like a puzzle in a dome

Pretend that you can follow my tone
Dear boy, you're tamed, busted and read
And your fears constructed as a bed
In which I lay sleepless

In whole, your rushed rind confessed
The fruits you tamed in diligence
Both stolen under my influence
I can't help but to simper

Almost found out by a drinker
But audience is still too far away
To find the source of my sway
Imbedded deep in their hearts

I'm sworn
And the truth never to be told
But I am forever so bold
As is the steep pitch in my way

Placed in clouds just to stray
But down here your minds are broken parts
Unveiled by my lonesome eyes
You should never be aware

That I stand here naked in a dare
With quivering calm that is reclusive by far
I’m never breaking patience with my cold living scar
Yet you still dance in my music

I am the troubadour that is never losing
His jealous vivid glare
The depths I will only share
When they find me in my eyes

When I'm shown