At last, sunrise
And here come the baths of bloody freedom
The feels of Pounding and Hidden but like the moon in the flashing streams of light,
The shadows seep far but ever closer
And who is our name;
A man as a child, but so stunted now.
What to steal from then, and what to flee from?
Oh sweet nursing ghost, come back to me and wrap your arms around my cursed head,
You are the tunnels inside of me
That I tread to my masters bidding, then turn on him too
As a son of Haman and emotions' loud, smoking bangs.
But I am sold now.
To the dark whisperings in the midday night
To those frozen chambers of my first ordered sins
To the wild naked howls, summoning the animals of my home wood
To the chins and sockets in circles, lit by the scalding heat of our inferno,
To the rebukes of our lethal oars
That pull us against the tide, up the waterfall of tumbling, dark,
blazing streaks of men
To the roars and flags and bared, scraped chests of foolish bravery for a cause, we are -
For nothing comes free in this world, was told to my yanked locks.
Oceans roars, riots, pressed together,
Sudden bounded now by the scratching old greens,
Dust in our eyes, in their words,
choking and running
From the fire concealing the world
Too late, for the flames lick our country's mark now
But left, in the background of the cracking of a hook, ready to jump corner on our passionate converged whispers,
Forgotten to our fleds
Stick to your stones, that is all you know,
The mantra, yet others deeds hesitate my capers
Beneath the shining steel glint of courage's yells
Am I the man I pretend to parade in wild camaraderie ?
We become, evolve
forged from our gut
Bold
step out into the new life
become rebels
bandits
warriors
Slink and slide towards,
past the burnt endermen, poised to stalk our mission
but disturbed in grit and bared jaw by
The squawks of dirty white warnings rush to flee -
Up and through the scrawny, reaching arms of our ashy home,
Quick to conceal your scars with dirt and disappointment, nature to you now
Return, and drink the dripping, withered essences of your enemies with a sigh of giddy, malicious contempt
And a toast to the desperate, cruel lies of your mother, childhead.
Do not confuse fiction for fact
And view me in thine
Unsavoury light
For we are bold rebels in the thick rushes of those alien ranchers credences
We are coal prints in the white tears of an open mans sky
Run! Fire!
Hear the screams of scraping rounds carve our new moulds from His aboves clay,
And watch us become bulletproof
Invincible inside the caverns of hells' swathe batter rams that envelope our hooded windows
They call for a captain, so I wear the borrowed skins of a red nobleman now
And they with the dresses, for nothing scares a man like crazy
Release the bloody, shrieking flares calling for us choiceless to take the future from those crippled claws of metropolis caste
Shedd the grease and absorb the new Moses,
Feel the sharp clarity pull open my vision,
Pace through, dividing the ink and grime soldiers,
All in anticipation to scrape the forest bare
And print the crushes as new-born palms;
Black tattoos on our swathes of grinning devils' cloaks.
Cock your gun and watch down the barrel, with the high, echoing cries of freedoms dreams around the bonfire
we chant and plot
Surge and surge again, we stick to our stones
Then forced with the savage, raging glares of riots, besieged
The few scraps left, cunningly slink away with our spears
Bold and know, we enter, to the hidden temples of glowering statues, their condescending orbs lining the path,
To our request of the revolution.
But there is not a man borne among any with the patience to suffer the injustice I have
Nothing now but to turn in prolepsis, ignore their spats behind me, and begin.
Alone.
So I will wait to hear the chugs of smoke from my cavalcade, poised to run me to the new ruse
The lighthouse shines through the cloudy lies and His messengers hellfire still
I will wait with my quill in hand to rewrite the future.
To late yet, for the hive of caste calls traitor to me now
And rips that yellow sash off my netted chest from the young runner - spear then too.
I stand: a white figure in the bees
But only stones are received.
Wrestle our skins, our tear cut ruts, our cruel masters grin and
her ghost in the dark and across my mind
We turn our capped minds from our beasts, from the burning shells of our hideouts
All, all to our solitary desperate white sprinter
The last hope
Where the tale begins
They call me the coldest murderer on record, but others, knowing the truth would call me a hero
But a man cannot change his past, nor run from his destiny
So as you read this history, know that it contain no single lie, may I burn in hell if I speak false.
