Status: In Progress
The Armed Man
Was a long and dark December
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog
Became God
Priests clutched onto bibles
Hollowed out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft
I don't want to be a soldier
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below
Bury me in armour
When I'm dead and hit the ground
And hang my body
On show.
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog
Became God
Priests clutched onto bibles
Hollowed out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft
I don't want to be a soldier
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below
Bury me in armour
When I'm dead and hit the ground
And hang my body
On show.