In mynd's eye there's this letter I mean to send:
heaven forfeits whoever it forbids
but writing's not a sin
and this blood letter written
iron rich as the rise of society
and with the strength of metal and the strength of death.
We change the rules and dress up the name
but everything's still the same
and society when maimed or made lame
wrings capital paragraphs to thunderous applause
if we all clap then no one is to blame
In unison they swing their canes
dapper dressed they walk down one ways
while all this time our lives wind up not as a time-piece
reckoned with a heart wind terrible to behold,
but as the wisps of wind that soft
dance across your face on a hot day.
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