Sport and Jest, Sport and Jest, Sport and Jest
The Thrice cup of lightness drink down
And splosh the laughter all around
While babies' blood wails from the ground
Sport and Jest, Sport and Jest, Sport and Jest
Continual parties for your ales
But you ensue your own driven nails
On coffins for young, sturdy males
Sport and Jest, Sport and Jest, Sport and Jest
The Games are played in arenas
Yet are won by blood thirsty hyeanas
Whose stripes always bleed through
Progressive Seasons of Lent on the forehead
Will light shine through?
Will light shine through?
Will light shine through?
A Judgment, An Council, A Dark, Remedial Solution
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Lord spare your rod.. yet spare the rod and spoil the child.
ReplyDeleteI want the spoil regardless of fierce chastisement.
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