Cold hands sow the seeds of spices far from whispered waters.
Shaking like a drunk in dream, our passion never falters.
Dedication to our end weaves a tale forever grand,
knee deep in shit with triumphant grins, all soil into sand.
A spoon of brown and earthy sugar writes epics of our home.
Storms to rust this weathered pain, stitched eyes to scribe the tome.
Like my mother, like my father, I can never seem to sate,
forged in expectation of my power, a solution to our fate.
Mirror feed me verdant lies, like always I will eat.
Let me put the blade away, leave sickness at my feet.
My stomach pits, my balls are sore, please let me get some rest.
The erosion helps, but if you can, recall me at by best.
I like to sing songs in the shower and in the rain outside.
I bellow hymns of opulent trust, and love that will survive.
I think fondly of my friends often, my family I should say -
I get to choose for whom I shed blood, and for them who I slay.
Lay me down in a river green somewhere far from here.
Burn some sage and chant a chorus from the lungs of year.
Remind yourselves who it is that listens to your thought,
identify with beauty, find no flaws - discover what you sought.