We drove the long way home,
|
past the prison gates and through the years.
|
And at the side of the road we saw a faceless man
|
whose old grey skin held his ageing bones together like an oversized leather glove.
|
And whose eyes sank so far into his skull they seemed as black as the midnight air.
|
But this mans gift was his words.
|
He told us how there is a fine line between order and chaos,
|
that there are those in life who do not know what they are fighting for,
|
but that it is the fight that counts,
|
and that a man without principles is a fool only to himself.
|
And the years past and we never saw him again.
|
The eyes held a crystal glaze, but the scent did not return.
|
|
-----------------
|
Do Not Move A Muscle, Do Not Breathe A Word
|
| Eden Maine |
