He's a master of all guises. A sinister chameleon, A gnat Who would hunt you down And drain from you Every last drop of life force, For his hunger knows no end But his boundaries are well defined So his wings may never sprout.
This game has rules even though they've been long thrown out. You have to start at a particular spot on the board, You have to move forward so many spaces at a time At which point there are usually either dire consequences, Or timeless rewards awaiting For those brave enough To roll the dice.
How it must feel To be that old tattered afghan To be the one with the fibers pulled loose To have been something with worth To know what has been and what will be Is the unforgivable sacrifice One must give in order To have that special design Stitched across your chest.
In the end, We will all exit The same way: Tragically Publicly humiliated, Strung up and hanged From a makeshift, Mirrored "1" With a silk noose Made from the fibers Of our unique losses And our same old Convictions.