the velveteen and oaken soothed the lonely child    the parents watched the escort take him while they stood outside   the priest was kind and gentle as he positioned his head    the pain was like brimstone, but the kid hardly bled       victory    instinct over intellect    victory    it erupts from deep inside    history    history is laughing at us    plotting its discovery    victory, victory    blame it on the victory       among the parade crowd there stands a decorated man    remembering how he helped to save this sacred land    his helpless enemy was wounded, both hands raised with hope    he killed him without second thought, with brute force and a rope       so many times, so many lives    test the other side    waiting to see what the maker has in mind       the unsuspecting commoners hum diligent each day    they wallow in their father's sins, as time passes away    the crimes are without motive but they ignore all restraint    the evil sits inside them torpid timing its escape