Three great men rise from the mud,
their ambitions fly them ever higher,
Three of them kind, gentle and good,
their deeds wrought them loose of the myre.
Through life these three span,
and through death back again,
their conditions get worse as they tire,
Three promises wraught, kept one of them naught,
and towards hell they forever conspire.
They work towards their goal,
yet on their shoes and their sole,
are the faces upon which they tread,
they will do what they please,
but will trip and will freeze, when
they see the cracked visage of dread.
With their lives will they dig,
(and their shovel so big)
through the soil of the forever they shred,
and soon will they attempt,
though their lives are all spent,
to redeem themselves of all they've rent,
for beginning with end, their life was
quite dead, and in them, they continue to rend.
Three great men fall to the ground,
of the canyons forged deep in their souls,
Three of them evil, wretched, and downed,
confound by the pull of the devil.
Three great ghosts rise from the mud,
their duty bringing them ever higher,
they will take the great men, and
push them in again, to the depths of the thickening myre.
31-Mar-2010 03:03:37