A part of me became a fiend;
A treasurer that left my sleeves
To find the shiny end to all his dreams.

The flying of his lash upon the sphere
Has caused my own to go numb.

Twisted fingers wilting in the sun,
Prying apart the singing Son of Heads
With all his bleeding life; he was found dead.

A proud disease was born a sheep.
Guided by a shepherd's hand to show its face across the desert sand
Until he dropped the leash.
Wild poison spilled upon the civil streets.