The Borehole ©

Black abyss is down there isn’t it?
A secret hole for the stained souls of the men of the enigma.
Trickling down the spine of time,
let the gates open
let the rivers run red for the coming of time
as hole deepens with screaming of life
as it pulled down in to the hole.
It assimilates broth of life,
let only the silver sunshine escape with it’s serfs.

Let us vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous
in vigil valour and vanity.
Shoot them I say! Shoot them!
Purge the Golden hall of it’s gleam and glamour
and baptise the children of golden brown cradle of birth
with the glossy shine of blood, sweat and tears.