Them Good Folk

There’s a lot of good people in the wasteland

Amongst the bastards on their lofty thrones.

Behind the screens we sit and form a band

And dare them all to break our thinning bones.


I’ll ne’er see thee, not eye to eye, but read

The tappings on your desk at witching hours

And mark the words of anguish and of need

To find some form of touch that topples towers.


Exit the dungeon. Matters not the likes

And loves forced at this time of the morn.

Support for fighting ghosts, or rousing strikes

To voice the discontent that feeds the scorn.


Their out there, in the wasteland, them good folk –

Don’t shrivel back and silent shrink away.

Above the turret poek and drop your cloak,

Eyes open, smiling, join our happy play…

Them Good Folk

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