Damask robes on the severed road, as Severin sings the boot precociously
Furs and spurs are the roots of inevitable depression, the rain in the gutter
Flows like so many streams to the town of your birth
See that scar and revel in it, for the clock that tocks is dying so eloquently
And here, I shall hold your hand and convey irrelevancy

These days seem so long
Words leave a vapid hole in my soul
Are you reading this closely,
Meaningless as it seems

Each poem like a crack of the whip, my back scarred and bloodied
Each person, in a line, taking the time to abuse my mind
and today I am freed from the ties that... keep me safe
But still bound by the ******* of a million people
Each one suffers, and I lay awake in the evening damp
Listening, still listening, to the cries of the camp