by John Smallshaw
(London, England)

They told me dip your toes into that hell
and make a daisy chain as well
and each daisy represents a body slain
a bloody great big daisy chain.
So I went and built a wall of sweat and in it tied the lessons which I tried hard to forget
but as these flowers on the wall began to bloom
the chain wrapped me into the doom
I saw a mountain lit in blackened light and on a white horse
there sat
a knight of olde
Taking notes as if foretold a history would need be taken
of lost souls who
forsaken by their breath had daisy chained into their death.

No Camelot
No Camelot
King Arthur has forgotten us
as we forgot the writings in the book
and took it on ourselves to delve into the fiery hells
that live within the hearts of men.

When we learn to make a daisy chain
when we learn that each man or woman slain in the name of God above
will we ever learn of this thing called love.

If and when we start to live in peace again
I wonder if we'll begin to see
daisy chains are not all they're cracked up to be.

The mirror spoke before it broke of another reflection back in time
another line
another chain
another hundred thousand slain
and told of not who was to blame
but pointed wearily
at me.

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