Scraps From the Feast

The wind that bends the sticks and stems Sends a message that makes the lights grow dim I don't know when, but I will transcend This disaster and all its whims and trends After fomenting rebellion I was soon rescued And all I could think about was my niece and nephew A modern Pygmalion sculpting flesh and sinew waiting on life to be breathed into my statue The narcissist's mirror has been shattered And the barbarian's bravery has been battered The scribe's scroll has been burnt and scattered And the figurehead's ego has been flattered Let's not forget, last but not least We must remove the burden from the beast Subsisting solely on scraps from the feast, Prayers from parishioners and pedantic priests That heavy yoke must be destroyed And auxiliary forces must be deployed That unfamiliar feeling of being overjoyed Has been gone so long and left such a void