The aren’t dead and the danced animals
Forage through cities’ ruins and silly ideas
Say you were a minstrel with a loaded gun
Will the prayer be sung or whispered will it be
Rung or laddered say you were an artist
In a holding pattern fleeing police and someone
Goes unbeknownst to them where to deliver the nails
Victims would dance around too many too soon
With hate and a racket too little too late.

Image credit : Dolven – When I leave the world behind, 2006