"in the lion's den"

enchanted calamities winding down your throat like wine,
the lions in your basement calling, crying out your name.
the feeding time gong has been rung, it's already that time,
to buckle up, embrace trauma, and look at the house you'll tame.

great valleys encrusted with the filth of wrong words and faith,
beings entombed in their own batch of meloncally death.
great mountains breaking the lords upon their ragged haggard face,
bringing time to those who shall not quit, only rage on into space.

slide on that belt of gold, grab hold of that whip so torn,
walk straight into the world as such, into the lion's den.
only then will you feel the eyes upon you, their eyes of red,
waiting for your doom, their fresh flesh, earned for your scorn.

time will not heal your wounds, for time cannot bring mend to sloth,
sitting down in and around warfare will bring but bullet to brain.
in time, act fuels the doorways of flames in finding courage. it costs,
nearly as much as you have to give, for nearly all your energy it will drain.