Frederica

What keeps you being down, a crescent moon at Easter, a night time after sun, your desire to own, denies all reason, by map or red trombone, a clutch of wayward clowns, billow your search to flee, running far from the town, building blocks to your mound, already in dreams, you accept this holy ground, or is it that chlorophone, helps you manage breathing, don't act like a drone, when you love you drown nothing's given for free, put away your doubts, try and take life easy.