Gord

2015-01-30 12:00 am

Voice 2:
If I tax not the husband,
I laugh not upon the sun.
I task not the daughter.
I ask not of nonsense, but honor.
To ask men of skill-set stoic,
Who is the one to dance prophetic?
They say skill-wise I circle cone,
Shall I play so remarkably alone?
When shall I finally wax poetic?

Voice 3:
Do not fret in worry,
I fight a fool, truly.
If we fight horseback steel,
His men will have no drink,
All ship that be shall sink,
If they think upon the sea,
I foresee not a shot upon me.
I foresee not a shot upon my men.
However,
I foresee dead men of opposing color.
A sea of red for a coward humble.
Two dawns we march upon him,
Squalid condition disregarded.
An offer of an ultimatum:
Convoluted death or instant slaughter.