Dearest Mother and Father,
O the perilous thoughts of an adolescence.
Of which no fry has any dominance.
For the source of my true luminescence,
No longer is an essence.
By and by I thought of this,
As heinous thoughts crept within my skull,
Of the taste from the sweetest of her kiss,
Compared not with the price of gold.
She is the star for which all evenings a wait,
I the heavens that embrace her.
Could but nothing stop our fate
That thou had sent forth in a blur
Thou nurtured the offspring in thine own fashion
In turn forged a rebellious child
Whole of all things pure of passion,
Henceforth the lives of thou life is wild.
The plight of my dear fair Juliet,
Who wilts as crimson a rose does in thou garden
With exquisite features I shant forget.
Ne'er shall her death be in pardon.
One hand grasps the dram of poison,
The other holding an acute dagger.
The swifter one be picked by the Montague son.
This pick shall leave no stagger.
But still I ponder before me my actions,
Be this the stairway to an immortal love.
Could there be other distractions
From a church sent dove.
I have fallen into a dream with a dream
But found am I awaken into a nightmare
The face of my dream was a constant beam
Now is my constant wakening scare
My hands are tied behind my back
Our god has given no more choices
Death seems to be the only pure attack
I can already here my beloved crimsons voices
My heart has reason for which reason does not know,
That grows in spite of my unknowing.
My mind has feelings that it cannot slow,
And thou cannot undo the doing.
ROMEO
O the perilous thoughts of an adolescence.
Of which no fry has any dominance.
For the source of my true luminescence,
No longer is an essence.
By and by I thought of this,
As heinous thoughts crept within my skull,
Of the taste from the sweetest of her kiss,
Compared not with the price of gold.
She is the star for which all evenings a wait,
I the heavens that embrace her.
Could but nothing stop our fate
That thou had sent forth in a blur
Thou nurtured the offspring in thine own fashion
In turn forged a rebellious child
Whole of all things pure of passion,
Henceforth the lives of thou life is wild.
The plight of my dear fair Juliet,
Who wilts as crimson a rose does in thou garden
With exquisite features I shant forget.
Ne'er shall her death be in pardon.
One hand grasps the dram of poison,
The other holding an acute dagger.
The swifter one be picked by the Montague son.
This pick shall leave no stagger.
But still I ponder before me my actions,
Be this the stairway to an immortal love.
Could there be other distractions
From a church sent dove.
I have fallen into a dream with a dream
But found am I awaken into a nightmare
The face of my dream was a constant beam
Now is my constant wakening scare
My hands are tied behind my back
Our god has given no more choices
Death seems to be the only pure attack
I can already here my beloved crimsons voices
My heart has reason for which reason does not know,
That grows in spite of my unknowing.
My mind has feelings that it cannot slow,
And thou cannot undo the doing.
ROMEO