No clueless wannabe hang around
can ever find its way into my sun,
where I, bound by the one true sound,
waits for nothing more than a last run
with enough money to last for days.

I am the apostasy of all dead aims,
of all things fallen due to a lost cause.
There will never be a war of flames
fought for the sake of a silent applause
or a dress that is totally out of place.

Thus the final dare is a wave of coils
billowing through all wily expectation,
a teeming cross of wills that boils
to the speed of all things in acceleration,
speeding up to the all inclusive praise.