cross-stitched dregs: the innocent
amputees march under burnt barons
welder's waltz on bitumen
danced through europe on red herrings

could I dare to fit the mold?
backstep quarry as I am
red-cooled as the iron folds?
to slay my fellow Abram's men?

all us may bear alike it seems
unstained by winter's medusa gaze
frozen hearts' slates and slips and screams
buried neath the grounds where cattle graze

quartered, not thwarted where wrath wrought
caught up to me with vengances' grace
my immortal minds have not yet fought
spirits burned to set the pace

of engines great and firing coal
of men and heroes, young and old
indifferent steel: parts made whole
fueled by wasteless life and soul

here I rest, 
in the dust of glory
curing my bones that I may
quench the thirst 
of chasing foundries where tracks lay
me and others like me
forever and ever
amen