The heart beats.
The blood runs as paint.
A pure canvas
Now, stained with blood
Red as Rembrandt's tulips
And all the much as tasty.
Purples throb with life constrained
The essence drained
Dragged on spikes
Of Triad's lies
Heat as thick and heavy-wet
As ever women are,
But juices of a different sort
Enjoy their home on questing tongues.
The two joined as one
Soon torn to shreds
Four pieces to four corners
Symmetry, completion
What began as two now ends as four
They weep red tears of bitterness.
Tears to become a painter's blue
In a portrait of the mighty three
The three together, complete, all matched
Though violent emotions stir the embers.
Embers to tend the flame
By which they rule their land.
The flame of passion, cruelty, vice -
All the same by our reckoning
Burning down the world of boredom.
With ambiguity gone
The rest goes to Hell
The world, now ours
Begs at our feet for repreive
a "five-minute rest"
And the Triad laughs
And kills their cries
Their pleas, fallen on deaf ears
Become steps
Steps to their weakness
Their demise is chosen
And blackened shards are all that remain.
They fall on cold sand
And are covered by wind
All forgotten, their lives.
Putty in Triad's hands
Molded to be perfect
Flaws caught and choked
And breathing stops
And world goes dark
And everyone starts over again
Indefatiguable as we are...
But still the Triad remains
Strong and true
Knowing all and seeking none
For needing none is in their nature
Feeding, beating, all as one
Destroying in unison
Let's Die a Little.