A story a starving child told me of...
Left to charm away at the dumps of the roads
What these roads lead to, her puerile looks do not know
What was seen with those antiquated eyes, the passing did not know
But I was whispered the visions one night
Of having shelter but not knowing any one Home
And I have passed on through the gaunt cracks to the walls in hisses
Songs from the aesthetic insides

How true can it be?
These teachings that circle me
How fast can it grow?
This hatred that consumes me
How much wire must surround my neck
Before the wishing well implores to grant penny wishes

What canes grow in murky soil?
What voice chills my shadow horde?
What nerves have they cut?
These figures that preach in regret
What form will revenge take?
That I have promised upon their dug graves

How and what, you query?
If I was a well, my own, I'd tell
How well I know the premises of spite
I dare not underestimate

And when they look at icy horizons,
They'll see what was done and what armor was worn
They'll come to see the liquid chrome through my veins
And the black serum that fill my eyes