When killers walk the earth

When the killers come

I’ll be waiting

With my knife up my sleeve

To join in the barbarous feast.

I’ll know then my place

For the ones who win through

Will be those who know nothing

And care in the least

For the man and the woman

Who ask for the treaty

Of peace in disorder

And push for decrease

In the labour of man.

It shall so be chosen

We one of a kind

Will not be able

To ever withstand

The use of the label

The stand of the man

Who doesn’t come over

But uses the land

To make himself

Fever-

Ish, and not insurmountable

But ever so slowly

Comes to the band

And asks for a singing slot

To send his ware

There never be able

To stop him

His manifold reason

To come after birth

Is to open the rising

Shout of the Firth

He only comes once and does

Not believe

The harbinger of truth

Shall succeed unto land

And his work is not finished

Until that is not stood

Upon with doubt

But the finish of land

Is redoubt and before

The work of the diesel

Where once there was rope.

BCDFM

COPYRIGHT Bruce E Saunders 2020

Dedicated to Nelson “Rosh” Mandela