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Merciless nature, human and mother walk this land |
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Each through the arm of the other |
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Their tithe they count in millions |
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In a Land that loves its villains |
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So calculating it parses a man |
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Between the hand that held the dream |
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And the sword being held by the hand |
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Their golden frames hang gleaming |
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Tangled bones of their crimes bleaching |
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Their golden frames hang gleaming |
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Bleaching bones of their crimes tangling |
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There he stands a mere mist of a thing |
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Waiting his turn to challenge the |
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King He counts his time in centuries |
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He lives on the smallest of mercies |
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He counts his time in centuries |
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As the map is unrolled the dagger comes out |
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And that which was certain will now end in doubt |
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Thank you |
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Sir Francis |
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Bacon Another piece of advice not taken |
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Thank you |
|
Sir Francis |
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Bacon Another piece of advice not taken |
