Paper cuts and hand packed lunches
brew a mystery , soundless and grey
To go upon our q’s and a’s
fueled by family feuds concord
That reach a sorrow , famine alike
treacherous sights of nightingales
Hooded robins , where stray explored
Swords and pompous swords that swore

Old and me we row
For kingdoms come and go
To go there back again
For the place we love is end