The nomad wondered, what went on past the walls.
He whistled away, as he walked toward the falls.
Lost in the silence, what goes on past those walls?
The beautiful bold brick, standing so tall.
Ancient and raw, the withered hand.
Who has no home, and knows no land.
Whose savage way, is to understand.
The crown and the throne, desired by man.
Pale and ghostly, her lips are chapped.
Bark has been torn, her tree has been tapped.
A filthy kingdom, which she can't adapt.
Like dirt beneath her nails, trapped.
"A Joker, a Jester,
Just a Clown?
A Man, a Boy,
A proper noun?
Making drinks,
To water them down?
Holding ice under,
To watch it drown?"
While the nomad wondered, what went on past the walls.
He whistled away, while inside she crawled;
Lost in the silence, that goes on past the walls.
Lost in the silence, that wanders the halls.
