Those who know me or think they do
Only can see what I place in view
Have no idea the roiling storm below
Or the divergent paradoxical flow
A river of magenta, pink and blue
See I’m always standing with bared fangs
From endless thoughts of hunger pangs
Verily I say I can be quite the dreg
For a fountain that’d make me beg
I suppose I’ll have to wait till I grow some bangs
If crimson is the essence of life
Then green is the origin of strife
For envy drives states to war
Just as it urges me to yearn for more
To carve my place in the Earth with a knife
