Downhill Orchestra

They did it again: hanged my weak and meek body, then mutilated my innocent corpse I was just but a writer of poetry. I have not seen the beauty of days that pass I have not tasted the heavy milk Of nutrient laden might I have just heard the slow sorrowful orchestra Of my only never ending clusters of words deep within. I have taken a stand and gone on Thieves and robbers would always take something Judges and critics would never yield to questions I am just but a writer of poetry. Written 2006 Just the young thoughts of the young mind