born with the courage to thrive

in the efforts to keep his science alive

he built a horizon of an army

trained to be unstoppable and mighty

he has taken and used

destroyed and abused

with the work he is committed to solving

leaves his finest patient convulsing

 

she walks in on a gentle cloud

speaks of nothing to keep all shroud

all knows of their connection

but ‘tis nothing but misconception

hung from the highest pillar

the pink balloon wrapped round her middle

pulling out her useful antiquities

to be used for his dark twisted recipes

 

and she isn’t the only one

in a hidden warehouse of sharp razor fun

three young strangers guide her to their station

she is the key to their salvation

pale, tall, hair taut

one wrong move and she’ll be caught

amongst others, she does as requested

under shivers, idle as they’re molested

 

how she wishes for an ounce of justice

hanging limp as some scale Mt. Everest

and in the distance there he waits

inside the dusty gates

with his glorious imperfect staff

a maker of his craft

the pretender of the century

watches her like a mystery

 

while there she is put to sleep

her teeth not hers to keep

awoken numb on the hills

his hand lay a danger on her frills

         ‘i look forward to seeing her back again’

         ‘prevention be lost to their own vain’

she may venture back to her valley home

but is nowhere close to the freedom shown

 

live or let live

or die by the blood he gives

abandon hope for all is lost

across this world of icy frost

mustn’t you heed the great shepard’s hand

for it’s written in stone to burn all land

counting down to the final days

begging for mercy and no more plays