Edges

The last loin has caught fire;
There’s nothing to protect my skin from shame now.

All jaws are dropped in awe,
As I walk towards the edge of the sword.


The last earned penny was stolen from my pocket,
And my last bread was spat upon.

As I stepped further, they laughed at me.
Laugh! Oh laugh! This is the last time.

In the end, things get fine anyhow,
I’m standing on the edge now.

I turn to look back, they wonder when I’d jump.
This is the last matinee show; They bet bucks if I’d return.

But now, there’s no hope, The last loin is on fire.
And as I fall free I wonder, If flowers ever grew on barbed wire.

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