What kind of race, lack of direction

Just how lunatic, to have a nature so deceit

Bewail my reverie, a gambol untried

Lure of carnality and silence in forfeit

Animals, enslaved to pearls of fictionalized worth

Creatures, born from caves into simulated mirth



I'm talking, Idols of Chagrin

Born of posession, complacement in disguise



Craving and candid, as to defy the character's fall

The kisses you drain, pedestrian pedigree

What's thought is pain might be desire after all