He is a sad and broken man
With a bottle on his table
And a knife in his hand
He knows no one understands
The mayor looks out of the window
And his village is in flames
He sees the people burning up
He knows all of their names
He takes another shot of whiskey
There is nothing left to do
The village will be ash by morning
The sky will still be blue
He pours some whiskey on his table
Throws a match, igniting it
Drunk, the mayor sits in his burning house
Feeling guilty for all this shit
--
This ends the Village series. Thank you for reading. Regular bitchfest poems will resume from tomorrow.
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