hide from sight of scented devils
that prowl the clouds for thought of rain
that hide in night and wasted pain

walk along the marbled water
that flows with coils of pure life
no need to feel those once in strife

in ends do meet the laughing boy
who sits high above on an orange throne
so he can look and throw his stones

the scented devils decide to fight
and the laughing boy is empty of fright
on the edge of the river
they rage and die into the night

the river slows with perfumed bones,
blood and metal and orange thrones