#224672 - “Come!” The serpent beckons, “I swear to set you free From that irksome shackle – Responsibility! Far from fear and burden, Out on my astral plane, Lost in the firmament, Safe from the demon pain!” At last a word is spoken, A sacred, solemn word, Distinct and oft repeated But little more than heard. Yet still each night they gather For while the fires burn They reach the river thirsty; Drink not and must return. When he leaves with her they yell, “Oi, the bastard’s gonna score!” A short walk from the dance floor To where a shadow’s cast, Against a dusty brick wall- A relic of the past.
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