Today the bright palms of victory
Get trodden in the dirt
The morning after begins
With yesterday's news
The body-count that keeps breaking
In and out of consciousness
I like to think I have a phone for a mind
And locomotive eyes searching
For where he spent the night
A god does not want praise
So much as loyalty and courage
But still in his last days
Someone must bring him food
He must get some rest somewhere
Quietly gather all his strength
Getting ready to be ravaged
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