misty tartan
A night came,
A knight gone,
A battle lost
A war won,
The bard sits alone,
On the corpse of the knight,
In the cries of the night,
In the tears of sorrow,
In the blood of tomorrow,
He cries to heavens,
He pleads to hell,
For he wishes to not write,
For he knows,
There is none left to listen,
For the bard now hopes,
For a world with flower,
For the children to run,
For the maiden to love,
For the man to stop,
The bard sits alone,
On the corpse of hope,
On the heap of future,
"He was going to be a farmer"
"This one wanted to sing"
The bard knows the war fought,
The bard knows the future lost,
For he screams to the unknown gods
"What these kids had done ?"
"What future does this land has ?"
"They fought in your name, they died in your name"
And the bard sits alone,
With sound only of,
The pen falling from his grasp,
For he knows,
No one will listen to songs no more.
rose willow
leaden coyote