“In a town far away in the land of innocence

Not much to be, but a shadow of the notion

Crawling and crumbling blind men approach

To the alter of give and take, frail hands closed

There in the middle not very far from the last,

some humble men, living in the shadows of their past


When the time has come and the bell has rung

in one, two, and three, the vultures clung

The Meaty men sway from left to right

The weak gets slain by their hunger’s might


Upon this commotion, the fates warning blown

and the greedy men, all overthrown

Now come the chance for the humble man

to pledge a vow and ignite the torch

of a generation-long thirst from which he made,

and from which he arose

The nobles, the clerks, the warriors, and a hidden toll

a price due, all their secrets exposed


Upon many winters’ shrieking cries, and enduring a thousand willow mimes

The noise in his head if ripples, now a moonlit midnight tide

Though a crisis in his heart, and no one seems to understand,

His life is a war with aged eyes and wrinkled hands

Perhaps, he heeds to the call of the stray and the mongrel… ?

or perhaps to a trimmed, boots and a flock headed somewhere?



… a slow walk, a gentle pat, bestows his future on our fate”




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