Harriman's New Place

why won't he stop moving?

Back for more I see.

Well sit down here,

And listen to more tales

Of the last haven

Where men can be men

And women are available

If only for decoration.

Pigs twirl on the spits

And fill the castle

With the sweet smell

Of roasting flesh.

Squires roll in fresh kegs

To keep the mugs full

With sultry spirits

After a hard day

Battling in the field;

To remove the taste

Of blood from our tongues.

The king sits in the great hall

A cup of mead never far from his

Beard covered lips.

Down the stairs we march

Into the dungeon.

Delighted we are

To find not shackles and bones,

But more frothy cups

Laid out for our gloved hands

To devour with our unending thirst

And relentless lust.