Unregistered Firearm / Ravacholl in Valhalla / Crom

Colors of such that our eyes were burned

And gold boughs from which to hang oneself

We've got reasons like the seasons ringing

We've got weapons without name

Mirthless though dressed up in comedy

The screen's glow is hiding the mammon beast

It's cauterized the senses that allowed us real life

The carrot is how we avert our eyes

And in time we're willing to lick and to contrive

Spending in digital atmosphere

Smiling as we've learned to love the stick

Choking back emotions into character armor

The wizened paw of Crom is a-hanging off his leg

His ribs are sticking out like a leather birdcage

He's aged so many years in the past few days

Oh Crom you're such a good dog

Ease this pressure, lay down weaker,

gasp and shudder and never stand up again

Cannot feel them, cannot feed them, cannot hear them,

as the dogs they bale and whine

I am weak we are all weak, but I'm not as weak as you;

with a dead dog in your arms

With a needle and its tip to suck the life and starve the dog,

the boy is lying on the floor,

Raise him colder to the sky.