So you are flesh and bone, 
Taut, and tired so, 
The fabric itches where it was sewn, 
Burns and pricks the skin you own. 

You're on the go, and all alone, 
What for? You may never know;
Waiting to transcend to some Home, 
All whilst tethered by more millstones. 

You should've shown, back then, 
When dawn was still a dusk remnant, 
What you kept only to yourself;
You might forget- you'll regret no less.

And when old time tests your faith, 
You'll pray to surreptitious sins; 
Erase, amend, never to recompense, 
You will carry this to your Bed. 

The Barbaric Yawp