Shireling
A Servant of King and Country
The Autumnal Spring
Like an autumnal spring
Dying and yet thriving in a single instant
Our lives are spent between orgasm
And the deep mourning of the dead
Bound are we in chains
To the silent, stolid tyrants of poignancy
We lead our lives as master and slave
Master in the instant of conquest,
The rush of euphoric love
Slave in the blackest pits of despair
Laboring under the darkest heartbreak
What alternative can be seen,
Than the undead and apathetic dregs of our ranks?
To the torturous mass martyrdom of our fancies
Not long after their joyous conceptions
If God had crafted Man in facsimile
Surely then he knows the highest of hopes
And sweats with the pain of the lowest of fears
Like an autumnal spring
Dying and yet thriving in a single instant
Our lives are spent between orgasm
And the deep mourning of the dead
Bound are we in chains
To the silent, stolid tyrants of poignancy
We lead our lives as master and slave
Master in the instant of conquest,
The rush of euphoric love
Slave in the blackest pits of despair
Laboring under the darkest heartbreak
What alternative can be seen,
Than the undead and apathetic dregs of our ranks?
To the torturous mass martyrdom of our fancies
Not long after their joyous conceptions
If God had crafted Man in facsimile
Surely then he knows the highest of hopes
And sweats with the pain of the lowest of fears
