The grounds of Westminster

Noble and valiant names committed to stone,

Erased by the footfalls of the faithful,

Their ordered deaths, now honour the throne,

Of a country still wantonly wasteful.

His vicious vices

Waiting, wanting, wanted,

Satan sits, sat in satin,

Inviting in vile visceral sin,

Hating hatred hated,

Since future's past, and times' begin,

His vicious vices will ne'er be sated.

Kensington girls can't sing

Kensington girls can't sing,

Delicate flowers that cut the crowd,

They stand timeless, tall and prim,

Heirs resting on graces, waiting silent and proud,

For trains, draped in fine things,

And a love that they are allowed,

To whom they can speak with, via lightly shadowed eyes,

A lover who sees them, and only them, 

For their worth, and not their prize,

Yet, this flora wears district distain like never before,

As sharp suitors present brief cases to the lowly platform floor,

With tired animosity in bloom, cloaked behind their guise,

The heart pleats, 

Soft velvet stares tailored to pain and sting, 

Tempt lesser gentlemen to sin, 

Or for once, to finally feel something.