My roll ends with the tides of the shifting moss
Amateurs murk forthwith in a tin can
Out of the cool wide-eyed of night dream mist
Deadened lines slamming heaviness on tombs

Rain cities distilling the cold blue night
Cracks underneath the putrid sky lit doors
Clay built street lamps melting on Earth’s rumble
Inescapable hues of red sunshine

Broken shades of satire crawl around
Over the moonstruck autumn fairy rain
White skeleton crows in adverse obsidian
Dowsed in misery, songs for the wicked sweet

Mocked, maimed and ill-trodden
To the fancy slims of the crystal ball
Born to the age of tangled wars
Aching wheels of thoughts heralding headlong