A severed tongue dancing on the road,
Had things to say about the sword.
It came from nowhere like a ghost under the bed,
And delivered its wrath unto the head.

Before a scream could escape from the lungs,
Fate had already hooked its fangs.
Blood gushed out of the arteries like it had wings,
Painting the earth red, like it was already ready for renderings.

Life was ripped out of a life
It made the masters snuff and choke in their grief.
The plight, once again made the deserted road safe,
For the strays to search without a strife.

© Ommie