As In Sheepskin.

On a first name basis, light can be shed,
A sheepskin charade is drained but, not fed;

A greenscape tragedy too great too bear,
Though, the spectrum of joy cannot compare;

A hatebreed brews in the toxic river,
Those who don wolves clothing dare to shiver.

Across the ocean and over the hills,
Waits a beast of lute tuning, sending thrills.

During a celtic carnival it sleeps;
'til the day fires cause the earth to weep.

Thy name? Does it compare with the harp's song?
The dragon's tourniquet? and just as wrong?

Trenches are to be hollowed in day light,
and to be sacred and hallowed at night.

Hide! A disguise is anonymous sir,
for we all lie, as the truth is obscure.