the aberrant king hymn (curbs / curves)

your barbarism is a faceplate
we all know
be well on the highway
there is no one crying to kill
the aberrant king

no liking for asphalt honky-tonks
or pearl induced sweat lodges
curtailing the sanity
of feather wisdom on mules
reluctant and relaxing

no tried friend will kill
this partial king
the worse is yet to come
the worse in history
all sabre from a little man

bellies roam across Oxfordshire
still stealing fruit and hymns from mercy battering rams
still no true love among the beats
captured and contained like frying cantaloupe
the coming king will take us all down to purge
a cacophonous backspace blurb of sidetrack railways
there my God goes walking on pedestrian painted curbs / curves