Overcast and underpaid, I pulled into the station
A valet came to tip the scales, to help me find the way
Held out his hand to take my keys, he was flown down straight from admin.
I sing my whistle-blower's ballad as I supplicate the night away.
I stumbled out in front of a jury of my peers.
That stony, straight-faced light brigade, stacked up in rows and tiers.
I pled my case for innocence, but all upon deaf ears.
No acquittal for a whistle-blower, this is the story of my years.
I woke up the next morning with a tool bench for a bed.
I was trapped inside a kitchen filled with loaves of wonder bread.
I cried out for a guide book. A voice above me said
that a whistle-blower needs no friends nor allies.
It was the voice of reason trapped within a man with flawless teeth.
Who lectured on the overlap of glory and of grief.
So I quickly grabbed an American flag and wrapped it in a wreath,
and hung it on my front door to greet the season.
While guardedly stargazing, the sky began to fall.
Flowers blooming bloody on the south horizon wall.
That violent amendment to my senses both inspired and terrified.
I've got the red blood blues.
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