High Dive

Driving forward with heart of a dark hoard of tyrants With past deeds behind them Blood black as iron On fast steeds a-riding, with flaming broadswords And on all fours beside them with shrill screams like sirens From hell speedy ranks of fiends flanked a-wiling Then looking down crying lord god louder than a smokey whore's cough In a crowded powder room of a sports bar at dusk Her gut cramped up as her teeth did chatter With the shame a poor dad to blame for core matters Like four glass homes in a driving storm shatter She turned around and climbed back down the diving board ladder