Here come the footfalls of the ghosts who I used to know,
Their faded faces with dull eyes and ears, dimmed years ago.
Murmured whispers of stolen memories I hoped lost
Gripped tight by claws and cracked hardened flesh.
Do not demand I name the worn out spite
Where secrets once drifted devoid of tanned light!
Hold power or sway over kingdoms held great but pitiful small
And waiting for those bent kneed and haggard to fall.
Wrap rope around your own stretched necks!
For once walk shoulder tall within the men and maul,
Spare me the footfalls of abandoned cold ghosts
The fear of their tread has long since been dead.