Description
An Observation made within Sam Spratt's "IX. The Monument Game" - The tribal call beckons, a plea in the midst
Of decadence and decay in the lingering mist
The cinder’s smoke dances, our carnal delight
A pain unmasked, a degeneration’s plight
From the muck we’re born, from the ashes we build
A monument to the sky, a whole unfilled
A yearning for freedom, we long once more
As darkness creeps in, we beg for yore
A tribal call beckons, a roar on high
The end of the ages, a last goodbye
A purpose unfelt, we pray for the rain
And when silence falls, only our stories remain
