Never mind the wilting frame
His bottomdweller stride into mayhem
Time after time

What he wields has yet to take form
To be revealed and revered
By the light of our day

He’ll flourish from the flask
Emblazed with new hope
As a truth to behold
In all
Its thundering glory

Never mind
All low scouring eyes
Some sorrowful, some scorned
By a fog of disdain

For he’ll scale to his strength
From battered knee
Consumed in hellfire
Tragic, yet stern and mobile