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Recon
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For Every Collar, A Leash
My own will be done, generously granting martyrdom. Those on high are lower than the buried dead. Invert their sacred symbols. Sharpen the wood for use as weapons. Mock and ridicule the pretenders. If they're the beginners, we're the enders. Unbridled ire for those of righteous reign. Silence the voices of the cattle choir. Gather their defiled remains and throw them in the fire. Those on high are lower than the buried dead. The timely death of foolish wishing, it's no secret that I'm hissing. At the eulogy I'll be laughing. At the burial I'll be missing. My own will be done, generously granting martyrdom, to bear the whip splitting pious flesh, to be a lion in the coliseum.
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