Pilum

Lyrics

I know the warmth of the palm for an hour,
Waiting in rank while the shouting begins.
I am part of the arm till the fingers let go,
And then I am nothing but wind.
I fly in a volley, a cloud in the sky,
Looking for timber to ruin and bite.

But this is the thing I was always afraid of:
To be made for the throwing away.
To bury my head in the painted oak board,
To buckle my spine for the sake of the sword.
You built me to bend. You engineered me to fail.
I am dead in the very first second of day.

Two feet of iron, left soft in the middle.
A pyramidal point that punches right through.
When they try to pull free, my neck just collapses,
And I become heavy. I drag down the view.
I cannot be gathered and thrown back again.
I am garbage and mud, uncoupled from men.

And this is the thing I was always afraid of:
To be made for the throwing away.
To bury my head in the painted oak board,
To buckle my spine for the sake of the sword.
You built me to bend. You engineered me to fail.
I am dead in the very first second of day.

I hear the boots marching over my back.
The iron-shod sandals, the drawing of steel.
The gladius gets all the sweat and the glory,
It stays in the grip, it remembers the feel.
I just make the opening.
I just make the crack.

So leave me here trampled and stuck in the weeds.
Just a kink in the shaft.
A ruined line.
Don't bother reaching for me.
I couldn't fly straight if you tried.