Squeals high they scream at nigh;
Three sided leaves drop upon lustr’d crowns,
Escape is paramount and impossible
For guardians oversee their every move.
Limbs akimbo and fingers crooked
Deep based sonorous vibrations,
Echo In the playground town.
Terror flows in every vein.
Vernal impulses encircle passerby.
Black singed his scythe hovers
O’er heads of three, the hens
That barren leaves dew.
Thumps of marrow and flesh and sinew
Says adieu in solitary languages,
Unknown in six by two.
Three are they a sinful bunch
With nay seventy moons
Gone by, but they be as full
Of sin as rattlers full of venom.
Hair of gold and fresh, fresh
Thoughts have they.
They be sinners three, and
Doomed to blackness four by four.
Sinners, sinners, not long on this
Planet. Sinners, sinners, charnel
For a dismal fate.
Skin of snow on mountaintop
Crowned with thorns of spike.
Crushed to earth by forces.
Sinners before a note is sung
At the funeral of their birth.
They are the modern sinners, betrothed
To reapers, heads of air in
Castles nigh, burping edicts
Through a forked sky, spilling the
Dust of bones for these
The modern sinners, but two by two.
