The Watchman

Here comes a feat of boots dressed in gold

Clad in a uniform just as bold

Keys wrapped in paper cloth

Hands wrapped in gauze


Bloodshot eyes tinker chilled

Yet he stays willed

Though no one comes to lay fright

He does not blink all through the night


Blind man says watch closer here

Deaf ears do not appear

Sharp as nails he rakes his hands

Through his hair, though he is blundering mad


Teeth grind in his head

His fame has bled

He cannot move his post

He can feel his host

A shaky hand throws his cigar

Leaves in an old car

An omen shines through the gate

Only now he realizes it is too late



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