Hail the Count - Woe of Tyrants

Inflicting arms extended to ground;

outstretched frail.

Able

bodies toiling in the fields

below.

A heartfelt slap in forced

emotion, shaking bouts allow

incentive.

There’s an invitation

passed along the lines up to the

house, the count will vacate

tonight.

Glancing down one last

time, in hopes of catching their

eye and oh my, he does enjoy these

petty torments.

Look beyond

welcome, a fleeting peace as he soars away northbound;

a rest for

the weary.

A fleeting peace as the devil flies away.

The torches

of nighttime igniting, there will

be no break from the labor now, as the quota must be met.

Behind the

wounds of the toiling pawns'

resentment, strain faced demons

overlook the land.

The blind

mans' word rings an infinite

wisdom, senses empowered by an overly sensitive hand.

They

best behave or they face an end,

immunity granted for only work to bones extent.

With the eyes ever

watching, ever knowing the rules

we’ve broken they always see.

With a stare into a pale circle,

we’re weeping and gnashing.

We remember the past, our families.

Look beyond welcome, fleeting

peace as he soars home southbound,

no rest for the weary, and no peace as the devil feels

dismay.

Better behave, oh how

you must behave, a finger to touch

the scar upon your cheek.

As though sparked by the light cast

upon them, together they fault at no dismay and their spirits won’t

be broken.

From here I view this

as almost a dream, forgotten, I fall to my knees and witness the

onslaught of peon divine.

And we must hail the count, in excess

you’ll be found, follow onward

round you’ll go it will not stop.

They always ask the question of why it’s them that is condemned

and left to worship folly of man.

Better behave, oh how you must

behave.

My finger will touch a new scar upon your cheek