• And there are four
    On the Floor
    By The door

    Lay crippled in
    Their lack of vim
    And weathered hands

    These cubes of gray
    Go day by day
    Without a soul

    No work of grand
    Take heart and stand
    Against the top

    I've taken power
    At random hour
    And Ended them

    For they are gone
    No land or lawn
    To weep the loss

    And now I see
    What has been wrought
    By my own hands

    Then do I take
    These shards of glass
    And end the tape?

    And the four
    Became a five
    In crimson red