Beneath steep Victorian walls
I am jailed by favor
Yet quietly despised

For I’ll do them no harm
From these sun-kissed snares
With crazed locks shaven
Gelled and kempt

For I’m far better off
Than the devious lot
Devoid of their rage
So pleasantly shackled

As the daily chorus
Ascends from the fields
Steadily, driven
To an armed and bloodied revolt

Where I’ll meet
The coils of kin
And their sorrowful task
So merciful, so swift