JaminSully

The men who march the countryside, pillaging and war-making claiming new land, must brave the angry mountains. When the golden lion chases prey uphill, outside of its element it falls beaten in the dust, starved, king of nowhere. Long days in the coal mines; the balding middle-aged man's beautiful bronze-haired wife won't touch him. The sun's eyes sear away our resolve, melting our icy lifespan the good, the bad, the trees. Only the moon isn't dying. In the driest desert, even the water cracks and thirsts begging like a newborn left on the road-side at night.