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Anarchy.
Laces tied with accuracy to our blocky combat boots.
The misty air is tainted with our soldiers woots.
Gut-busting laughter deep and reverberating,
Going to break through what's barricaded.
Slaps on the back and low growls from throats.
As the aligators roam through the moats.
Law-breaking low-blows both here and there;
Doing anything without a care.
The crowd is silenced, oddly enough.
There are the prisoners, bound in cuffs.
All begin to raise blood-painted fists,
With a round of battle-cries long missed.
Together fight just to break the law,
The most unholy thing they had ever saw.
Now see that the moon has switched to it's full;
The enemies know we can't play by the rules.
