Unregistered Firearm / Ravacholl in Valhalla / Crom
Colors of such that our eyes were burned
And gold boughs from which to hang oneself
We've got reasons like the seasons ringing
We've got weapons without name
Mirthless though dressed up in comedy
The screen's glow is hiding the mammon beast
It's cauterized the senses that allowed us real life
The carrot is how we avert our eyes
And in time we're willing to lick and to contrive
Spending in digital atmosphere
Smiling as we've learned to love the stick
Choking back emotions into character armor
The wizened paw of Crom is a-hanging off his leg
His ribs are sticking out like a leather birdcage
He's aged so many years in the past few days
Oh Crom you're such a good dog
Ease this pressure, lay down weaker,
gasp and shudder and never stand up again
Cannot feel them, cannot feed them, cannot hear them,
as the dogs they bale and whine
I am weak we are all weak, but I'm not as weak as you;
with a dead dog in your arms
With a needle and its tip to suck the life and starve the dog,
the boy is lying on the floor,
Raise him colder to the sky.
