A Matter of Perspective

There's an old man on the avenue
With hands behind his back;
Them wrists be raw
Those boots be scuffed
These soles are cut real thin,
The soul was hung right here to dry,
( his rights were lonely beings
That couldn't grab the law
And look 'em in the eye ) .

Old man, time is ticking fast
The noose is waiting and
Thumbs twiddle behind your back!

There's a fire in his belly
That burns about his chin
It limps right up his throat
And crawls out with a grin!

It burns out brighter than
The flames 'aneath these feet
Trodden jovially over
And choked down with a gulp.

The late maiden took his eyes
And held them in her own,
Applying salve where salve be due
(but missing where it hurts the most)

She was just passing through
(the subject I defer)
Though it must be shown;
In lieu of sun thee flowers die.

The fire under his feet
(Much hotter then that within)
Has consumed the old man's whole
And he flees into the noose
To hang his feet a little higher,

The fire in his belly
Burns about his chin
So he holds the noose intimate
For though its tight embrace
The flames about his feet burn hotter,
Asphyxiation not so scary
(a friend to ease the misery)
As the flames that burn so slow,
Delayed conflagration of the soul.

His eyes blink a tear
The heart flutters a time for last,
It was really quite dark
Until the maiden took his hand;
( When days seemed short
When time seemed long )
She went so long before
But has a seeming longevity
That I quite adore,
Held once, held yet
Saeculum clamor.