Book of Andre

I care now for silly echoes,
I assume the worst of my best shows,
And of eggs that don’t hatch,
And goldfish that move fast,
What you’d think if I do what I have long promised in hymns,
If your death will be any better than mine.
Let us settle this now.
Open your bibles to the Book of Andre 11:11,
For lo, when the devil’s eyes shall upon my head rest,
Verily, which mouth doth I use to announce the curtain call?
Verily, which smile wouldst make her see my forever con?
Which flavour of death will make you fear fools?
How good must thine syntax be in a death note?
Behold, a quandary,
Do cowards spell in English or Brute?
For verily, I hereby bestow my best riddle,
Nothing but gospel truth.
A razor, a smiling vein, A gas leak,
That I am left merely but bird bones and a lose tooth.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s