Honest LyreHonest Lyre.
Bring a pan kettle, throw them in the fire.
Throw a fire a dollar, lose a dollar there.
Plate a dollar nickel, never find a buyer.
Likeness un-liked, useless unused, doubling doubted, truth is abused.
Wise is that man, that builds himself his lair.
Bring a pot some ginger, win another layer.
Win a war with honor, never find a liar.
Tell a liar off, grant him now a 'sayer.'
Compliments admired, brutality refused, discretion tolls "aid," Honesty less
Long live that man, who sings to his own lyre.
Suffice my vice to acclaim my pain, I shall yet not run away.
I'd advise myself to quit, but my advice lacks luster a bit.
My fun awaiting calling for play, my games can't wait yet another day.
Fulfilled my wishes else garden a fit, I'd fit in a can with this mind of mine.
With the mind I have I'd fit through a ring.
Anything, I'd fit through a needle's eye.
So feeble my intentions that I'd throw rage to the glass.
Graze my ego when everything crashes.
Glaze my mind when all rests; a little bit better that way, feels better like that
A little me carefree and wild, 'guiled' by the glint in my eye, wiled by the guide