Sick Children
Sick Parents
Sick Everything worth stealin'
Sick vermon
Sick shadows
Flyin up a cold brick wall on nights so hollow
Howl, sick brood
The muse sets itself beside you
Murky, oh into your ear it tells a murky secret
That halls vanished for thousands of years
Where conniving pees had jeered and leered
Sat sulking behind the grave of myriad generations
"Heed the protestant pest." It whispers
Detest the merciful bounds which crawl up your backs and abscond,
The personal pleasures usered by sharp, jagged measures
To learn and grow
See the hearkened truce sow in the gardens of primrose
Far off the diamond studded hill,
Mornings, evenings, trepid and still
With the grace of an eagle perched upon a limestone window sill...
When day takes a daylong nap and elongates our muse's trap
Oh, trappings of a bottle
Filled with gold ale
Will these sick subjects prevail?
Or fall beyond the pale of the decadent trench?
Stoln' by obsequious grench
Still marching up to jail with their dank, fowl stench
Sick...Sick...Sick...Sick...
Bark the dogs, commands the guardsman,
"Sick!" "Sick!"
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