Little Kings

Peace is a bore
So little kings start little wars
I call this a chore
That burn outside to barb reflections at the source
Our pulls are covered so we strobe
(Frozen drums?)
You rake the granite into
Awkward shapes alone
Selling everything over your shoulder

This one lacks the subtle pitch
Showing off some boring trick
And this one lacks the keys in their locks

Hidden in plain sight

Think of the one that hates to laugh
You may want to grow
Upright, a medal on your vest
Before you get too old
Tender voices wander off the path
Rolling holy shrouds into their thrones

It makes perfect sense to me
To find these gestures come apart at the seams

It's an ugly way
Of showing favor
When the bricks are burning
Strobe lights turns
I'll put a guitar up (those eyes?)
For you

And the paper
Above the jungle
Only drops us not to (?)
Look like you might get your way
One time

I say everything is good
(Money is your friend?)
I say everything is fine
Is the (game in not to wait?)