Layne, in fear of being the bug stuck in the tree crack
You grew, like a renegade armed for brainwashed battle.
Like a blackened leech fattened and tight with your own blood,
You clung to the lumbering hunk of flesh that is rock.
And rock you did.
Perfected it.
In chains the music was not; it was the bulldozer.
The melodic drone of your voice was the war Spartan.
Echoes bouncing off the walls of my head, shot and speared.
Standing, swaggering, crooning, you demolished the odds.
And now you're dead.
All 'coz you sniffed.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment