Bastards of Old
Bitter sweet, and nice to meet
Sink low to your filthy mind, stick out your hand and offer a treat
Sickly bastards, lean back with bulging bellies and rotting feet
Taste the apple, the peach, the pear, but don’t get up
They’re watching you now, ready to still your seat
Without thought, without remorse, and least of all without care
They are the secret workers of fallen destinies, the crushers of all that is fair
Jagged teeth for your maggot ridden corpse white rotten meat
Bastards in disguise, wolves in the pale moon light, but by day, sheeps
Listen closely and hear their plots, these weavers of knots, sick with fever heat
They’ll come on with a snake charm grin, and leave you bleeding without a peep
Move your ass, lose your seat, reach up high for destinies dream, but prepare
A fall is soon to come after pride, first you live, then you die
It’s the way of their secret plans, smashing you out, clapping their hands
Evil in plain clothes, destruction in epic throes, blood thirsty
Be warned, listen closely, hear their laughter?
They taste not, dream not, understand not, nor care any for your woe
They are the shade of shadows, and shadow of shades, penmen of dark demises
They come upon you in a million billion crafty disguises
The hidden dream stealers, the plotters of chaos, demons and devils, preachers and cons, wolves and sheep, snakes and pawns
The bastards of old
Copyright (c) 2009 by Gregory D. Welch
