Changing of the Guard
My shadow stretches out in front of me
The moon calling it rises from its slumber
The cry of a small child rings in the distance
No one wonders whet its for
Claws ready to clinch the flower it may just die
A whistle blows and winter begins
What might bold back the lies
Ever waiting the skinny old man licks his lips
The young virgin runs from the market
He knows his time is coming to be sold
Three rats per the pound
Fishing for a deal in this bounty
The cold stretching shadow has no boundaries
No where to hid from tis reach
Multitudes clap and whistle
Fresh meat is on display
Each snap a counter weight for judgment
The highest bidder inside the question
Outside of himself strung up along
No one questions no one saves
The best has come first
On parade are the leftovers
Far off the side a lamp is lit
It shines and dares to cast off the shadow
Few heads turn for the reaping
To blind to see a new rising
Oiled and strong the gears turn
A new hour has begun
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