Sitting below

Vile thoughs fill my head,
In this cool, dank place.
Paradise seems so far gone,
When all you know is strife.
What you see is what you get,
And insight is nothing something you want.
If you ever understood,
You'd simply get the blues.

Lying face down in a river somewhere,
Counting all your blessings,
Thanks Gods, for what you had.
A dirk through your back,
An arrow in your leg,
Head seperated from your body.
Life's such a heartless friend,
Offering one drink and another.

What does it matter what someone enjoys?
It's just not right. You're just the outcast.
Hail to the thief,
Kneel to the saint.
Preachers of the same gospel,
One, a man in black,
The other clad in white.
Both go to sleep..
With the same sardonic grin.



Penned by my hand on the 10th of Naturalis, in the year 427 AD.