These are not the Elysian fields you were looking for

A last scoop of dry earth

Falls upon the sad little hill

Pay the good man; he's earned well his fill

Quid pro quo, and all that it's worth

 

Crowded and unclean stand coloful crucifixes atop cavalry hill

At the bottom, he stands six feet above a man with no will

 

Dissonance of cars, laughs, bells, and tears

Boom over a chaotic street that screams in your ears

Love and loss and the fools that are between

Are heard a few feet away (why must I stay?)

 

Alone stands the son, one of three

Dad was as tall as a tree, says a boy now grown

 

Proud man, strict, mean, and irate

Boy, he sure taught me anger and hate

Happy now, you son of a bitch? Just your good luck

That stupid, narrow, angry, cheap ass fuck

 

To punish the father, he shows him his power

And when saints almost gather he lays a fistful of flowers

Pennies on petals placed over like medals carried over the pale

 

This is not your warriors rite

There is no valkyrie coming tonight 

There is only me and all the end's hours

Goodnight, goodnight, enjoy the nice flowers

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