Drunkard rider of the 11th hour

 

 

Fame and fortune for your ignorance

Ancient patriot-hail thee for thee bravery!

Drunkard riding the pony of pine

Belly to the bar as the call wrings!

To arms! To Arms!

Rebel soldiers of the minute

To the hills with arms in hand!

 

Where art thow Rider of the apocalypse?

Lips pressed to a tankard

As pail ail drips from your lips

An icy chill upon the air

There you sit

Pandering to your pint

As the call sounds

Wild fires in the night

 

Lanterns ablaze-as you linger

Drunken on your wooden steed

Proclaiming your greatness

Preaching to the last patrons

Your last glory and power

I ride a gallant stallion

I am a hero! But ah how cheap

The cliché defense-a scarlet ruse  

Blushing cheek as your glory is flushed away

 

Worry not old silversmith

We’ll hollow your name

We’ll cover your truth

You sang the battle cry of the republic

You stood for glory-

Glory hallelujah!

We shan’t utter a word

As your belt drops

We see the truth of the moon

A pail and violent lie

Reviews

[Lucinda Bogart]

As usual, another fine read. You always take me on tremendous journeys of the soul. I have to laugh a little bit at this one....

As your belt drops
We see the truth of the moon

Sounds like the riders bare a*s, and that part is funny...but

A pail and violent lie

Is somewhat sad...the pail is what holds the ale that turns the rider into the lier.

[Legion]

Paul would be so ashamed. You are a tremendous writer, you know that? And to think, you almost left this place. I'm glad you didn't. Would have missed the grandness of this as well as some of your other stuff. Great write. Kudos.