A Picket

Singing the songs of widow woven- You're a trance as I've chosen... Complete with a grail, now I really must know, How'd you wind up here? Time's been moving too slow. You're eyes sting my senses. I could be ridden now with tincture, abundant only in palliative lenses/ Fitted only with vision until the white picket fences. But im pinned/ Between a temptress and her lover sinned... The devil's a liar, tell them all as they've grinned. Do as I've done, look up at the sky and listen to the wind.