The streets are paved by peasant kings, to whom it may concern
For useless soldiers wearing rings, bound to never learn.
The children’s faces crease in wonder, desperate for a prayer
The sunlit sky begins to thunder, blue begins to tear.
Peaceful trails are cracked within, laughing with every punch
She without a lively kin, offering up her lunch.
Woe is me, my hair’s gone flat, I must address this sitch
My discipline lacks, my stomach’s fat, I blame it on the witch.
Decorated for their duty, honored by the masses
All the while quite the snoody sitting on their asses.
Foolish fellows making choices planting many flowers
Thoughtful men with stunted voices buried under towers.
You will never see me whimper now, the mirror is just too lovely
My sorrow’s dead, the water I tread is steadily above me.