The coordinated volcano

Knows when to blow the steam

When to burn the smoke

When to break at the seems

It can shut its leaks

And wait for the weak

When the coordinated volcano

Blows

Nasty conscience

In an empty space

Leave out the words

That gets forgotten

Just in case

Reign size

Is all a matter of perspective

If it does not affect me

Why should I be reflective

On a reign that is less of me

But highly offensive

Top holiday

Before the others

Has now been forgotten

As the stream flows

Faster for the

End of the line

Rigid umbrellas

Lie by the open door

As the rain sweeps in

From the city streets

We sit just in

Cold nights ascend

On New York City

Again

A merciful fool

Can be an instrumental tool

New to the frenzy

Yet slow to anger

What he is sensing

Me a fool

But merciful I hope to be

My shallow stitches

Have broken

My old ways

Have come out

In the open

Order the new surgeon

In

To make me all good

Again

Thundering crook

Took his last look

At a table set

To make his own

Little did he know

That below the table

Sat a man

Who had the same plan as his own

As the crook grabbed the table

The two quickly became unstable

The alarm rang out

And they both went to jail

Together

Not alone

Bumpy folds

Where I go

When the night is long

And the days are slow

Over the crest of the

Starched shirts

Is a new day

Waiting to start