Blouse

Over the hill comes the sound of a joyous war.
Counter attacks of exuberance and cheer.
Rattling against itself, the sky echoes the sentiment.
Delicate and driven are these bombs of celebration.
The generals hold the torches as guides and spotlights
Armed to the teeth with great booming laughter.

Over the hill comes the sound of joyous war
I sit with you and wish for the war to come home.
The mob has arranged for a fantastic party.
The masses are wailing for hilarious success
Celebration will come to the chaff
and the chattel
And the cups will be drained as the fire consumes.