Black treasure always falls short
Of its futile foundation.
Weeping hours pass over rocky mountains
Surrounded by purple skies.
Sweet is the sun that tramples down
Upon these grapes of bitter illusions.
For I thirst for redeeming fire
That is the cost of these sacred prayers.
Hollow deeds go unpunished
Only when the landmark is dead.
For she is her own dowry
To the one whose price falls short
Of honorable assets of his own false living.
Orange cattle become the sale
When somber ice melts into fierce clouds.
A is for the anger that beats inside
The heart of the warrior,
A soldier of battle when visions
Turn into grim reality.
B is for the bloodthirsty tyrant
Who cannot carry himself
Without the merciful slave who walks by his side.
For he is the weak of soul with devilish thought
That leads him toward committing the unthinkable.
C is for coward when his fist strikes her glass face
And crushes all the vessels within her fleshy cheeks.
For to hobble around claiming to be king of this domain
Is not likely to be his victory,
Because in the end it will be he who suffers
On judgment day.
D is for docile when she delegates
Her worst fears
And sends forth diligent embers
To take control of her blind destiny.
For she hobbles along with the roads
Telling her what to do
Even though her plight is not the right one for her.
For she refuses advice of one who knows better than she.
But how can I tell her that?
She never listens.
She only sees what she wants to see
In the beast she refers to as her husband.
How can I make her live through
The ways of the truth?
There is never an easy answer.
For eyes of darkness cannot open
In the gateways of the sun.
Once they are shut
She continues to live like she is dead.