In the town's square I sit as a fool
A  steel mask upon my head with ears of a rabbit
Robbing my sight of whom approaches this stool
Their weapon- a stone, as is the lottery's habit

I hear not the assailants, though their strikes hit true
Eyes closed, eyes open, the view is the same
In the weakness of pain, I cry out for you
The very one who enabled this display of shame

The blows come harder, the silence grows loud
Through blood I beg for mercy, no more can I bear
Until phantom hands release me of this shroud
Dazed as I gaze upon a deserted square


No stones, no blood, no mob I see
There is not a soul but me