As the singer sings his last tune
And the last dancer vacates the ballroom
The forest's divine string their bow
Preparing the hunt of evil, hate, and woe
In the air are sounds of grinding teeth
And swords are drawn slowly from sheath
Out of the trees extends a shadowed glow
While in their guts, the uneasiness does grow
The parliament speaks with the gnashing of jaws
While the public stands impatient with sharpened claws
For the prophets to sing them another lie
And the puppets to dance it's truth to their eye
While they stand idle for their ears to be fed
The rebelled divine load an arrow of blackmail and lead
With sights set upon the political beasts of Nations
Tonight, the hunters will over-step their station
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 9:10 PM UTC
As the singer sings his last tune
And the last dancer vacates the ballroom
The forest's divine string their bow
Preparing the hunt of evil, hate, and woe
In the air are sounds of grinding teeth
And swords are drawn slowly from sheath
Out of the trees extends a shadowed glow
While in their guts, the uneasiness does grow
The parliament speaks with the gnashing of jaws
While the public stands impatient with sharpened claws
For the prophets to sing them another lie
And the puppets to dance it's truth to their eye
While they stand idle for their ears to be fed
The rebelled divine load an arrow of blackmail and lead
With sights set upon the political beasts of Nations
Tonight, the hunters will over-step their station
Another Insomniac Poem
