theravenking

anarchia


by Yehoshuah Young



The old man points and the city burns

and the leaves they fall but the boy don't turn

and the seasons pass and the moon gets weak

while the sun gets closer and the tides peak

the hanged man laughs and the rich man cries

cus in the end we're all food for flies

The flowers crushed in an iron fist

but the fist will rust and new vines will twist

from broken fingers and tattered power

heavy locks fall from the high up tower

into the hands of rabid sheep

woken from their fitful sleep

sheep with sharpened fangs and claws

horrid voices from their jaws

blood and death and screams will bathe

all the sins of the willful slave

the old man dies but the city still burns

and death is the boy when he finally turns

the boy is death as the city burns

the boy burns the city when it is deaths turn