Tommyrum
Fecking pikers, 's all they are.
Too good for us,
unless it's to use us
to fight for'm.
Pin a medal to y'chest
like the weight o' the bronze
balances out the missing leg.
"Hero of the Poppy Wars!"
all the unicorns cry,
then they walk right by
when y'just want a bit
for another bottle
to dull the pain.
Always knew Peridot
didn't give a shit about us,
calling the March of the Sun
for the town's one Night Guard.
Feck you too, y'fat cow.
I ain't one o'the Nocturne
but us Guard stick together.
Spend a week shovin' pigstickers
into waves of charging qilins
and see how far y'taxes take ya.
'S just you and y'mates on the line
that bring y'home.
Feck 'em both.
Gonna wake me up
by trippin' over me
at half past midnight
stumblin' toward the docks,
least the damn hornheads could do
is share a bit
for another bottle
to get me back to sleep.