Ashen daggers stick
Digging at secrets
Prompter of every questioning man
Who already knows where death's shoes stand

Just behind the curtain
In the plain sight of night revealed
And the sun
The sun expects him not the be a blight
On the daylight strolling hills

So instead of hitching with the strange
And innocent alley cats and saints
Like a stray dog bound with one bright eye
Darkness rides like dust on the rails
Of Mr. Jones and his coattails

Thus the law which ought to be instilled
Forevermore held in place is this
No time for him should ever waste
As attacks imagined, grant to him
Such a silent advantage which he'll always take

Do you
Still bring all living things
To still?
Mr. Jones?