Centurion

Lying on sticks and vines Praying for peace of mind Looking on, waiting for the road To carry your milk and gold Hanging around With a hollow eye Wasting away with a spear in your side Anxiously toiling in the sand Leaves you with tattered hand Nervously choking on the rind Till there's nothin left inside Wasting around With a vacant eye Burying the bones with a spear in your side