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A position of power stands in strands
Strained, but set ablaze as a flood eroding
Enraged, Yet sitting, aboding
This little breeze has steam churning 
Yearning for the return of the burning binds

Please, understand: no man lives here
Just what appears to be shallow pride
Jerked around, smoked too fine
Passed and set to simmer, then to dry
Expected to go so high, because so far isn`t near

They would be a shell of themselves;
A body of hate and blind rage 
Living only on pure passionless jade
Like a mad dog growling afraid
Howling at the last act, hoping to be put down

This animal would continue to turn grey
With the hair, coat, and collar coiling fades
Old from the grind, burned while half away
Until it drops into a box made for a black parade
Never forgotten, but never missed
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[b]Toned Mane[/b]
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