It's difficult to rhyme
Hard to find the perfect line
My similes seem faded
Irony is jaded.

There's a line of poets
Stretched from my door to heaven's floor
Trying to get in
But no one's listening.

I guess we all sold our souls
For words that never came
Traded our paradise for hell
Our sunshine for rain.

There a line of poets
Stretched outside the liquor store
They don't care anymore
Nobody's listening.

© Era°