the pass

the patrol rides on

pressed by some ancient curse

a pale horse fails

bones rattle down the rocky slope

Dying In The Fields

sun cooks my sockets, eyes burn red

all that i hear isn't me, focus on the plains

antelope on the horizon, sucking on razor sharp dust

dying in the fields

a.m.

well if i kill the soothsayer and we've lost all our players i'll be lying face down with a sun-bleached crown suck in the choked air, instantly i dissapate and no longer create