the velveteen and oaken soothed the lonely child
the parents watched the escort take him while they stood outside
the priest was kind and gentle as he positioned his head

the pain was like brimstone, but the kid hardly bled

victory

instinct over intellect
victory
it erupts from deep inside

history
history is laughing at us
plotting its discovery

victory, victory
blame it on the victory


among the parade crowd there stands a decorated man
remembering how he helped to save this sacred land
his helpless enemy was wounded, both hands raised with hope

he killed him without second thought, with brute force and a rope

so many times, so many lives

test the other side
waiting to see what the maker has in mind


the unsuspecting commoners hum diligent each day
they wallow in their father's sins, as time passes away
the crimes are without motive but they ignore all restraint

the evil sits inside them torpid timing its escape