On Edge

Times and times upon the willing,
set forth a lad whom was drilling.
Folk and tale held in books,
drew in all who took.
Adamson was the crazy man,
which indeed set out to reach a pan.
Rage upon rage digging into the heart,
but this old man couldn't part.
Memories lasted in his brain,
violent tendencies caused the pain.
As the rage built inside,
noone was safe to run outside.
Adamson broke down at the mill,
so he came up the blood covered hill.
Swinging axe in palm,
Adamson grew more calm.
Blood spilling the land,
he sure did chop off a hand.
Families were not safe through the night,
Adamson became their fright.
Legend or no, he came to flow,
now the whole town is about to blow.
Police came storming the mill,
Adamson took the pill.
Now laying in the grass,
he will never pass.
His ultimate sacrifice took his life,
he used a single pill, instead of the knife.
However, his legend holds as a monster of time,
Adamson was never worth a dime.
His tomb lays shallow,
as his old bones turn hallow.