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 Grandeur Of Melancholy

You parade in death.
With an offering of you.
Such is the pagentry 
in which is doomed.

There is a kind of
human sacrament.
That steals from
others, as poetry
from your chest.

And you can only
find that, what if
I just want to be alive
without all I can buy.
Sell me short everytime.
When you are here, you
makes good moments bad.
Bad moments worse.
And still a story on
it's course. Can I correct?

It is not all heading down
but how can I go up when
I aware of the gravity.
She is here, to bring you to
this winner's defeat.

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