the velveteen and oaken soothed the lonely child

the parents watched the escort take him while they stood outside

the priest was kind and gentle as he positioned his head

the pain was like brimstone, but the kid hardly bled



victory

instinct over intellect

victory

it erupts from deep inside

history

history is laughing at us

plotting its discovery

victory, victory

blame it on the victory



among the parade crowd there stands a decorated man

remembering how he helped to save this sacred land

his helpless enemy was wounded, both hands raised with hope

he killed him without second thought, with brute force and a rope



so many times, so many lives

test the other side

waiting to see what the maker has in mind



the unsuspecting commoners hum diligent each day

they wallow in their father's sins, as time passes away

the crimes are without motive but they ignore all restraint

the evil sits inside them torpid timing its escape