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.








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