Continued from Part 1
Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots.
You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you paused to preen your pride, you scrubbed a scarlet blot.
In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crocks of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts,
The mirrors of our lifelessness, the evils you begot.
The haunted leaves on winds of time have strewn a shallow plot
Where now beneath the frozen stones the bodies lie and rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust and feed Forget-Me-Nots
In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot.
A black and withered tree of death is rooted to the spot,
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
And buried them in barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat,
Then drank your wine from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, like beggar’s blankets, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs in dripping crimson clots,
And gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
And wrapped in chains around your neck, the Reaper’s grim garrote.
That is the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was oh so long ago, by now you have forgot’.