The Mutant - Trader Horne

He is a the faker that sits by the river

Holding winged insects in front of his eyes

Face of the aged but feared they would wither

Living their lives, just fearing to die

Cardboard and leather and synthetic fiber

Don’t cover his body or flutter his mind

The earth is like Heaven and the water like cider

He walks on the ground and he flies in the sky

Monk in the glass house was breaking his fingers

Doing his penance for someone to see

The head in the alley was licking his papers

And thinking, ‽He's thinking he’s better than meâ€

He is but wisdom who looks on the youngster

Thriving, surviving, contriving but free

And if in his wanderings, he should pass your doorstep

Strike up your matches, there’s so much to see