The
Harvest
Has begun
In the presence
Of the tar drenched sun.
As
The snakes
Prowl the streets;
Harvesting death,
Hatred and deceit
The
Righteous
That gather,
Cower in fear.
Which would you rather?

The
Rooster
Will bellow
If ever there’s dawn
Out in the meadow
Or
On top
High Canyon,
We WILL destroy
That old tar drenched sun.