The call, the drive – the push at that pen
 All of these trappings only none of the rhyme
 
These age-old people are egoists of their own upon uncontrollable inflation – merriment sedation each of their own homegrown inequality
 Some will see, yet most of us won’t – by the nerve-ending
 
And their own sense of sellout self-esteem fails at bringing the house back right round = 
 
D
O
W
N
Rather
 
Full of the juices only minus the motor-mechanics any more than their least favourite whispering’s gilded miserly, miserably within 
 Sting in the tale = t-a-i-l between their misshapen legs again
 
Pegasus played them all in – ’til cutting the cauterised string to all knowing circumstantial effect
 These donkeys as supposed to, are supposed to be gladiator stallions – Still wishing upon their next great threatening breath to appear to be but a lock-horned unicorn
 
With butterflies by their brains
Drained dry – eagle-eyed imbeciles with nothing but sedimentary time
 Rip-torn, -worn and real, til fed-up at being
Riotously, righteously w-r-o-n-g
 
Rock bottom betrayal and going nowhere anymore
 Whilst the rest of us look up at the sky with our eyes … reinvigorated by Felix.