The depths pervade at every height
Monsters don’t sing for what is right
Conscience doesn’t echo in corruption’s sight
Power brokers all the black and white
Leaves turn to dust in malevolent weather
The birds that fly are without feather
Holy cows have been slaughtered for their leather
Goals have been struck by the crafty’s header
The warrior is a bent man with a staff
They have slain his soul to half
Snails have no fortune’s tales to tell
They are all too vulnerable without the shell
If history only keeps repeating itself
wisdom be a moron on humanity’s shelf
God can’t be found even if we dig and delve
The hand of goodness is nearing twelve
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