Variable Whore!

Moonlit slide-shows aplenty,
inside the eye of an image storm.
Tales, booze and portraits all,
urges and Woodstock dreams.
Worthy, worthless, who cares;
I've been there more than ye.
Sweat drops with that cold touch
of a blade on my neck, for a pal.
I came empty, will leave too,
more a man, no fables or boasts.
------------------------------------
Ain't that a cute one,
the variable happy news.
Chained for a grainy grind,
for kings from a red-light town.

That man, an haircut during sleep,
this boy, a legal bind during nap.
His will jaded with the fading hands,
sucked dry by the hungry whore.

Simply the best, one lore, all too often;
the platoon which landed before the force.
Now fight or die, loyal rewards,
medal of honour 'exceeds' their books.

Call for duty answered in ready,
for a man or was it a friend.
But why forget life! Did he?
For this miserable rut, hell yeah.

Sam sleeps and his hair grows,
pillars falling a matter of months.
The boy will wield his sword just wait,
a fight to death he doesn't mind.

Walk away if the pride was lost,
but the promise is the swing to kill.
Nothing between love and him, beware;
he'll never ever take it light.