Teira Naahi

Sunday, August 27, 2017


Herald the dawn for the host has come

To shake the blanket of the trumpets son

His beautiful daughter waits at the door

With her rose wand cross and a crystal orb

And in the mind of all the jacks whom with the jokers ignored 

The last call from the bar and the lock upon the door

A feast shall be held with the grey pallid dawn

In an orgy of flesh upon the black snow lawn

Then said the prince to his bride

Who in her lovers resort

Confesses the death of a king

And a queen in distraught

While the people on mass

Travel the path of nowhere

The fortunes of nations

Shall long disappear

A bride for the cook

A bride for the pot

Nine lovers in a cornfield

Nine more till it stops

Thirty two children

From pillar to post

Then asks the Nubian bride

Whom she loves least the most

Neither was her answer

Bringing the host to the door

Neither was his answer

As he fell upon the floor:

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