In the throes of the raging storm
Come the knights of might
Clamouring for the right of Eros
The prancing steeds thrashing about
Planting seeds indiscriminately among the weeds.
In bands without leaders
The dealers scour the wide bride-less aisles
Heeding the call of the wild
Bleeding off vitality profusely.
Soon cometh the blighting winds of exhaustion
The bite of the comet revealing dispersion wound
Initiating the downhill stride
Rumbling rocks of excesses
Preceding the anti-climax spin.
Soon the valley bottom is attained
Detaining the ramblers in the noose of feedback tally.
By dawn all are torn and worn
For medals, all exhibiting the deep furrows of sorrows
Borrowing the scarred faces of pseudo-philosophers
Revealing the fatal pace of drained revellers.
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