Do habits which relish the reap,

veins welcome chaos prickled doom,

for one hole dug may only go so deep,

all frisky demons pry open old wounds –

capsize makeshift raft caught in tempestuous breeze,

hear nothing other than with their treacherous tune,

diverting chosen path to seek,

as overtaken underneath a molten typhoon –

every battle leaves memory perfectly framed within photograph seen,

is there hope some form of cavalry turns up soon,

sing bright as a harvest moon beam,

....my tall majestic croon.