Sandanista
Waltzing on bracken and shingle,
Dirt scuffed and spun in the air,
As the blood and the dust devils mingle,
Drying, infused with despair.
The crackling twigs in the campfires
Spat out the legends of old;
The wind blew the ash of those campfires
Until all those ashes grew cold.
Whispered in tongues of black humour,
Polemics of demons and dread,
And freedom became but a rumour,
Butchered dreams in a dead man’s head.
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