The mist on the mountain and the draining rain,
the lingering loss and certainty of ongoing pain..
The king of pain ruling with his iron fist..
while the mountains seclude themselves in the mist..
The ruling factions know the rules to gaining the world
and how once you unravel the truth, the war is unfurled..
No more nice morning of mist and sun..
Just the falling bombs and bullets for the gun..
No more sanctuary down in the open fields of gold..
Just the lost memory of what was bought and sold..
Sell the masses off as fodder for the conclusion
while the king isolates himself in his own illusion..
So no more hours spent laughing in the tower
for the King now knows who holds the power..

09/11/2003

Posted on 09/11/2003
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