the elves attic

SAVE HISTORYSAVE US ALL

my genes were those monks
on craggy,rock windswept shores
keeping the words sacred
as wars
ripped the hearts out of man
and the con made them think rightous
murder and mayhem

illuminated bibles
died in mountain passes
fleeing with my family in the night

drank many a fine bottle of wine
and layed many a fine ones

then I was struck by a passing chariot
and left for roadkill

passing cars had their stereos up too loud to hear
my screams

not their fault
ain't nobodies fault

just gotta dust myself off
skip on
be grateful for the soft flesh between scars