The fallen deposes.

So many have fallen in these embers and these people never learn and they are such cowards indeed.
To estate the truth or stay a myth of non warrior and drink coffee never doing enough to even stay sane
all in all contributing to the crime and the rhyme of the limerick.
That Sidney Mick and Rose R Farrer and Peacock Boy all support is a game.
That you are not to fight.
That you are to die.
You are to just in the moment you have to fight
run from it and never be warrior but a doer who
only helps the ill of the night work its plight like
a cranberry pill virus of the symphony tree.
Sane, ya, never stay sane.
Sane ya, never stay sane.
Held up at gun point either act for yourself as you see true virtue of die
and if you don't act- it never was real.
And then you are the kill.
You are the kill.
The fallen deposes are roses and merries and tooth fairies and angels
they all say to exist in this white tropical land of media bliss but does it.
It does not. Sane, ya never stay sane.
Sane, ya never stay sane- never stay sane.
Ya, you never stay sane, because nothing was ever real
you are just the one for the kill
and the fallen deposes how many have fallen
their parents would not care even when such crimes
are hatched and people even dare to enact it in life as if they are right-
sane, sane, sane. You are never right. You are never right. Roses and merries and tooth fairies and angels alright, you are never right.

You are fallen deposes who can never anything but which you want to see
and that is the fall of you in agony to twist and turn in the night and become an
animal, an owl headed fright.