fragment #3

sitting by the tent as the sun spun wild and great

i found the claw of envy be resting on the muddy floor

i found the mad knife, blade wedged into a spirit bottle

anger rose like a great bonfire, spiralling smoke into the night

footstepts drawn in circles and eyes burned by sorrow

the barrel had been emptied, the dream stamped dead

all that remained was the shell

the bleak icy shell

frozen, all life stolen from it in its shining hour

broken bits of old money

sent from one end to the other

flung round the fading tube

maybe the time was coming to an end

and the sun sunk down neath the towers and trees

and darkness etched over our time of glee

maybe it would never return

and maybe we’d never be so free