Jealous Rage Is Your Golden Age

Like amber burning bright
You're cast upon the sunlight.
Bearing slender, fiery, branches
With Judas carving escape hatches.

The dark, thick, smoke says, " hello,"
And you welcome it into your home.
Smog around your hair
Is a white, aging flair;
Dancing about the air;
Engulfing all that was ever fair.

Sit around in your booster chair,
With fire billowing from the stairs.
Just then I come-- yes I dare,
To see you melting there!

I admit, then, I was frightened,
And tried to run, to not be grinded
In your jealous rage and evil laughter
That never falls to alter
The way I feel about her.

Your crosses are still burning in the meadow,
With ashes faling from their withered shadow.
These poor, dead, souls: their heads were once on pillows
But now they lay at the roots of willows.

Jealous rage is your golden age,
Thriving, blooming, into a higher stage
You stand impatiently and turn the page.
I'll be home very soon and you can't wait to take away my wage.

A bit of time to think would be ideal,
So as to avoid having to kneel.
I haven't done that since the Dark Ages
And jealous rage has brought us to the Golden Ages.

We differ in many things King Cold,
I tell my emotions very well, Sir Bold.
State your case again to me, Its always blunt and never full of mold
And it makes me feel quite old.
Then again, next to your Golden Age, i'm nothing to behold.