Threehead

Bless you all who made laughter, labs creation in head.
Thanks to those who wrote novel, efflorescence from the dead.
Troubled is creator whose mind is always dancing.

Dance you forehead sweats, Numbers one to six does not exist.

Goodness me the painter, every view a light.
Hugs goes to the steeple, efflorescence from the life.

I know the way to life past the 27th birthdate.
Your theories are crazy, brings nothing but maybes, your problems a-building, twenty floors said and counting.
Yes! but you know not of the mind you speak. My strength rises in dreams and in life, grows weak.
The artist, the raper, the candlestick maker, myself and I, put dreams to life.