Tearaway in durance,
Your impeccable annuity
Has me rather bone dried and naught less.

You’ve made your stand
And ran the currents toward my bereft exudate
Fondled my flag and torn it away

You’ve made a mockery and I’ve instilled
The pantomime snarl that has kept these people pondered

Your public affair with this Godlike army
Child reared the few
Has my stomach in tangled knots

Your epidemic wit?
I would rather gouge your eyes
Than have you pierce the skeins
Of such rising suns

So now what have you more to count?
Then the lives you’ve stolen so fanciful
So full of grace and good

You’ve made your stand
Torn away to such seldom solitude
Had my hand held high in certainty
To anything as such as that