Boots Were Made Before Souls
A basement, and a base intrigue
A chalice and a chair
Three conjoined twins, in secret league
Four harpies and a hare
Nothing but the truth, it seems
Is but the stuff of idle dreams
Through that cellar, twice a night
A primate and a priest
Chant holy writ by candlelight
To waken the deceased
Nothing but the end, they claim
Will rid the world of sin and shame
In that chair, before dawn breaks
A minstrel and a mime
Commend such cures for pains and aches
As stood the test of time
Nothing but Fortuna's wheel
Will cause the gaping wound to heal
From that chalice, drop by drop
A fluorescent fluid
Splashes on the gleaming top
As ordained by the Druid
Nothing but the standing stone
Can bear the mix of blood and bone
| Contributors: | Roland, TG, Chevalier, p. |
| Poem finished: | 10th February 2006 by Roland. |