This is a story, of that I’ll tell
As I fill my black inkwell
A pen and pad, it works you see
Yet naught compares to quill, and ink
To sit within this room of black
And think of all the world shall lack
The pain I feel, I think it so
The same as Edgar Allen Poe
A Telltale Heart, a seedless plum
A tortured Pit and Pendulum
F. Scott Fitzgerald knew it too
Society is just a ruse
A dance, a game, a twist, a turn
We writers ask “when will they learn”
The answer lies so far within
A world of malice, hate, and sin
The times have changed, the people, not
For money’s always paid and bought
It’s ruined folks, brought out the worst
The evil, bad, their power thirst
The ones who see it, smart they are
The stronger intellect goes far
The ones who don’t, who lie and cheat
Shall have their shame drug on the street
