The cuckoo and the fledgling meet
No song to sing, no dawn to greet
Sullen days, to the refuge retreat

Down the rabbit hole, exit lights my back
What disorientating & the degrading lack
Falls not free no terraferma, just terror, black

Knowledge & energy collide to confuse
Fever then to plague, no soul to transfuse
Attacked from inside, fuck it, light the fuse

Dealing with adversity, the King is crowned
Ploughing your mind, turns over the same ground
Silence is a metaphor for I'm not a sound

Humming whispers, mumbling spite
Tender is the night, harsh is the light
Never promised me a gentle night

Dragged the lake, pulled out something 
No dissolve & forget, still foreshadowing 
The bell tolls me back, still floundering 

Bittersweet tales from clowns to emperors
From launderers, adulterers & silence murderers
& in-between, quietly creep away from collaborators 

Desolate but still undaunted, we explore
The still corpse lays, floating on the floor
Attacked from inside, confusion leeches every pore

Even in a quiet storm safe shelters find
A child a book a cat a look, a mind
Catharsis for the introvert, extrovert  maligned 

The weight of all & nothing bends my back
The thief stole what was mine, without giving back
Devaluation of life, reevaluation of impressionistic 

Bound in a nutshell, alone with everybody
No nightingale sings, sounds of the foolhardy 
Reverence for your own silence, a divine comedy 

Self serving instructions, deals indiscreet lies
No rules here, only pornography supplies 
The cuckoo and the fledgling cries 

Sounds are the sensation produced by stimulation of the organs of hearing by vibrations transmitted through the air or other medium.