What little did I know,
you make quite the show,
One of a connection,
Another in my direction,

What little did I know,
I find you now brittle and broken,
Repugnant and open,
It’s something of a token,
To show your not well-spoken,
In the art of reproach,

What little did I know,
That you lazily crave those of whom do not path the way,
Art is a science of the mind, created by those who are divine,
You look for those who are mistaken, you may only get taken for a ride,
I see how you do, and I want you to improve,
This eye is trained for clues,
If you could see inside my head, your disapproval would be your undo

Creating a movement of what can only be called an improvement,
However, you are not refined, practice takes time.
You are going to make a motion, it may not rock the ocean,
But in time you will become divine.

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