Borg
poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2008

 

Upon the treasure mountains
Candles on the wall
We swindle through the halls
The chandelairs stand tall

Upon the trigun minions
The tidings have begun
We run we run we run we
Run and run we run and run

Upon the turtle fountains
Cradles that we call
That fondle with the mittens
That findle with our fall

And on the day of reckoning
When tidings have proclaimed
The hall so great we stay up late
And heist off for our fame