Turbulent skies
the dragonflies
can't find their wings tonight.
Thunder claps
then lightning strikes
as the gypsies start to fight.
The blood spilt on the sawdust floor,
soaks it up, as they want more.
Half the crowd all soaked in porter,
another lamb is for the slaughter.
Shots reign down upon his head,
his legs won't buckle, a stubborn mule.
Better to live, than to be dead,
the last words of a dying fool.
And as the pride of one is lost
another clan will count the cost.
Until they meet again sometime.
Underneath turbulent skies.