of villains of the blackest sort

charm is a verb

is what I heard

around the campfire toasting

murderers and marshmallows roasting

the queens of the podcast

fill us all in to the last

of villains of the blackest sort

taking innocence from our world

may our children always be safe

in our streets and in their space

may virtue find a way

to grace us all this day

the endless days come

im shouting in vain

is there no end to pain

we must daily attest

and be part of the process

the grind the grind the grind

one loses their own mind

the endless days come

forever around the sun

sitting on the edge of time

hoping to find a rhyme

that will live forever

and be a glorious treasure

lost is the art of gentle speech

can we be friends?

does it always depend

on things you know

you cannot control?

what happened to simple conversations?

a way to pass time between stations?

lost is the art of gentle speech

now we just screech

it will take time

to find a new rhyme

free from worldly vice

and the only law is to be nice