Outside native shore where distant relatives come from Mountainous hills looked like folds of crashing tide Grooving trees danced to the rhythm of ancestral drum Woodcraft countenance of a beast appeared, faces run to hide
Metal gutting through air like the reek of some fermented spirit All shivering bones must heed to this mystic call of resonance And should one ignore those small alarming bells; waist-tied to this trigger happy grit Only vicious death 'll bid victim farewell in any horrifying state of happenstance
We should have set forth at dawn; long before the eve of a looming Caesar's day Lest we meet dangling blade at the crossroads handheld by bitumen-drenched ****** from southeast But as daylight covered herself with a blanket of gathered thick clouds of may The land's celebration of silence was ruined with the marching ankle-bells of the masked beast
Cultures are birthed like the plethora skins of an onion Smearing our visions with this spiritual sogginess of something rooted and cruel We have always known masquerade wielding a stick stripped from tall bamboo straws; to be seen as a merriment minion And not this awful glare at its wake, needing mask spray from mouth-spitting gin, perhaps; to aggravate horror of a burning fuel
We have heard rumors of their king's weaning breathe Perhaps; mere travelers' souls should be spared from unforeseen burial rites For our supplication of a thousand lives shall go to mend his majesty's health So we may leave the festival behind with great hastiness and mights