Savage times beholden to no one.
The spider behind the wing mirror takes it all in his stride.
Disturbed. Unperturbed.
He spins and he spins and he spins.
The din from the bin men wakes the lulled and forlorn.
I cry inside a little more.
Strength unbound. Something breaks.
Cracks.
Like a rock on rock from a great height.
Split open down the middle.
There is no riddle.
While he spins and he spins and he spins.
thejrpc 