The sun blazes overhead, relentless as a frying pan’s heat,
Instead of nourishing, it seems to cook our very souls.
It turns our skin into a canvas, dotted with all types of moles,
The sun blazes overhead, relentless as a frying pan’s heat.
In shadows cast by flickering light,
A dance of flames, both fierce and bright.
Whispers linger in the air,
Stories shared, yet none to spare.
The warmth once felt now starts to fade,
In every choice, a price is laid.
We seek the spice of life’s embrace,
Yet hunger gnaws, we quicken pace.
Instead of laughter, echoes mourn,
In passion’s heat, our spirits worn.
What once was feast is now a guise,
A banquet lost beneath our skies.
Let us remember, as we tread,
To find the balance, not just bread.
For in the heart, where love can thrive,
The soul’s true hunger keeps us alive.
M.A.D. Works 