The dogma on my sleeve, I oughta pull and cleave, bear the chest of where I grieve, before the day the recedes, gotta reeve a rope with the hope that I weave, attach it to my deeds until it matches how I breathe, throwing hatches in the breeze if it happens to relieve, my habits that impede, happiness established what I imagine to be free, frittatas in the eve, rob us of our commas giving problems to my seed, promises that fleet, taught us what means, to be a product of the bottom and the common case is need, pursuit the hand that feeds, a metropolis of creeds, ponderous of these, ominous beliefs that’s befallen us in screeds, by the suite and tie that leads, the solution lies in we, the view implies the truth defies our speech, stupefy our liege, wonder where the you and I proceeds, if it’s ruined by the human eye do apply the sheathe