When will ways ever way without woman's wails?
Shall shallow shower swallow a sick sea as it sails?
When will the lips that tames talk of precious fame?
Oh, how sweet it was when her blood was turned a-flame.
Behind the shrine is the fretful caring fetish-
who drink the blood of the million flaming bodies,
How I wish a wounded tongue could bark at its cost;
Tortured tongues of dogs are we, barking at our worst.
On the 3 devilish way do they stand
patiently, with the pot of the gods. Like a strand
do they hold a bunch and vamoose within an eye;
And beneath the sky, within the grave, do prey fly high.
Soon it will come a day that will never come
And the eyes of the evil shall one many come;
Ears shall hear and never hear the ears that hears,
Souls shall melt like ice at noon and with tear sought tears.
"words from the innocent mind"
Philip Peace