Who'd dare the exacerbation of the cloud
and cut the fire for the grave;
tell the Epaulette he's a bum;
break the choking silence
and burst the truth for the street?
Night, night oh barbaric night
pregnant with cordite blood and brine
humiliate the essence of life and living
as the grumpy ravenous sword
plant dirges in every field:
the Epaulette.The overlord.The fear.
Mourning morning night morning
talking stars would be in the pen
a-roosting with the cockerel
to plant feints in opposing maths
to see the yet unseen day of light.
The roads are hasty avowals
where Erebus holds the sceptre sway
where life's like a pebble in the sea
where masks cruise with the law in the lawless
leaving in their wake,requiem mass blood and tears.
Who'd break the silence?