Ain't no Sunshine (for the Martyr)

Ain't no sunshine
on the face of the martyr
Gone are the days of brash construction
of a desolate yet abrasive mind
With fingernails brittle and broken
from the seams
the crowd pulls the soul through the
partying courtyard so as to
let them bare witness
of its overthrow
Too late to make nice
Too soon to go into that far away place
of tomorrow, forever, and yesterday
Ain't no sunshine
on the face of the martyr
Ain't no shame in the smile of the destroyer
That builder and operator of the Tonka Truck
plows feverishly
gallantly into open territory
crushing the stench that wallows with the waste
of vultures
Wallows in the pity of the lonesome once tyrant
still begging for forgiveness
only too late
and not as sincere