03-02-2013, 01:20 PM
Bow down, slave
To the sceptor,
The grape,
The bread,
The worm, no better
You drive the land to its barren death,
And when they say wear white, you do
But beneath linen
Lies the bare, cold flesh you rue
Yet white does not suit you,
You're more of a red,
A translucent purple,
If you grasp what I've said
And long down the path,
When you trip and look behind,
Is the grape,
The bread,
The worm,
But none of your time.
To the sceptor,
The grape,
The bread,
The worm, no better
You drive the land to its barren death,
And when they say wear white, you do
But beneath linen
Lies the bare, cold flesh you rue
Yet white does not suit you,
You're more of a red,
A translucent purple,
If you grasp what I've said
And long down the path,
When you trip and look behind,
Is the grape,
The bread,
The worm,
But none of your time.