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
You are on a roll, Bruce.
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Thank you Yassy – gotta roll with the punches – to put your body weight behind them!
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