I once was a mighty voice commanding stampedes

Across paper plains I fed so they could flourish,

Garden of gambles dancing with dice at the ready

For when I was certain the sixes would sing. 

Now I stand before the eyes of the serpent,

Trail of venom poisoning my bread crumbs

To ensure I, the wanderer, truly am lost. 

Over seven-billion seas surge into the ocean

We call existence, selling it shorter than we seem

When lumberjacks of life dutifully hack away

So that ambition alerts do not reach the masses

Meant to murmur lesT they awaken the murder. 

We are watched every day, can find no way

Unseen by judge and jury gluing their thrones

To our backs, the place we must know better

Than the back of our hands scraping dirt

So we can find and raise our pens once again.

Song will outlive us all, but power is lost

If our voice follows suit, thus we wage war

Against rampaging reality, our rage rising

To become an inferno of infatuation with fact:

We are artists, therefore we are warriors.