Graffiti

I dwell in stories

old as Yggdrasil the world tree

Old as old

Arcane runes mar these arterial chambers

their meaning long forgotten

They pulse with the rhythm of ancient drums

played by unseen hands

Doom-doom

Doom-doom

You have carved yourself with whitened scar tissue

and red brown bloodstains on these fleshy tables

But now your primordial song is ending

and I will no longer listen to your tiresome tale

Nor dance to your dust-worn injudicious beats

You who have told my story for much too long

But now I take pen in hand and

write a melody far more pure and true

You red pink walls you fleshy tables beat

the rhythm of regime change of empire falling

Le Roi est morte

Vive Le Roi