uneasy songs

if this were not my final flight,
the voices of the primitive
would not relish to imbibe
the words that strike a chord
that are so awkwardly deplored
when a root note is far gone and
quite exhaustively ignored.
it’s all a dance of cloven feet
to a wishy-washy racket beat.
welcome to the grandest show.
the band builds as symphonies slow.
no lyrics of solace that i know;
no acclimation, and no afterglow.

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