and i stood, filthy as ever,
for an eternity it seemed,
i know now, that you're simply asleep.

rusted feet entrenched in muck and mire,
wires lined to ducts filled with mud and dust,
lurching limbs hurled back and forth,
useless joints and hollow chests,
the best lens for their weary, frantic eyes,
and on marched the tin men, in such neat, broken lines.

they sing their war songs through the days and through the nights.
they scream their lungs dry to a shallow god and his shallow eyes.

"on we march, forever shall we be,
we search for the heart of the matter,
and the parts that all men we seek,
then we shall return to our god's great sleep."

so they fought with lions, and ripped at their hearts.
after all, isn't such bravery an art?
the guardsmen of golden expanses stood by.
even as flames filled those August fields in dying light.
towards the end they only wished,
for ignorance and it's sweet, forgiving bliss.

who is the trickster, the villain you may ask?
it is i, the wizard, the witch from your past.
i hold the heart, the brain, the bravery that all men seek.
i have gorged upon innocent death, and grown to such a weight.
but through it all, i still possess such an appetite to sate,
for while he sleeps, dogs and lesser men will play.