i built an empire on my back and it grew like a staircase up my spin. hunched over from the weight, i crawled on my knees until they were scraped and bloodied, my wounds reopening amidst the battle. "victory stands on the back of sacrifice," so i crawl because i am still moving. and when my body breaks under the strain of the new world order i will collapse, but it will not be in vain.
Dumb Streets stroll along with brains of blitz to an evening ritual of bathing with blood where young smiles melt away and tears dry out, guilty die and so do the ones who dare to doubt, audience calls it the crowned fool’s supper but our fool names it ‘Blooming of the Juniper’.
Dumb Streets poke their pride with ***** knives, scoop their brains out for the queen of beehives and surrender their soul for a single penny which leads them to a war-zone surrounded by jinni. The poor souls mustn’t retreat to the fool, who’d treat them as his supper or a war-tool.
Dumb Streets fed-up, riot with sullen spirits, they burn bridges and **** the fool’s puppets. The supper gets heavy as the days go by, our fool feasts on rioters who’ve sworn to die. Soon the puppets disappear into thin air and leave the palace for rioters to spare.
Dumb streets have our fool as their supper, sink their shelters with wine and clutter, but fail to notice uprising of another fool who’d played leader of fish in the pool. Shower mercy O! wise Fool upon your streets, preach the dumb, who wonder what he eats.