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Neath To Under

My circumference is death, my faith is my punishment, i have to walk alive - I render my back to the knife - I salute the soldiers lost to the dead, i break the crust, butter my blade, i do not dread - The judge have been juried, i can never move a note to be purer - I clever for you to understand, the gun in my hand, only triggers on this land - My brains will portray the painting on the wall, my mouth will myth the explosion to the call - The bones which bonds my brains to my skull, will carpet the fall with a dull - The sound to thunder, the clouds will tear, the rain will pain the neath to under

poem by Unic Cjonr
Added by Poetry Lover
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