High Dive

Driving forward with heart of a dark hoard of tyrants
With past deeds behind them
Blood black as iron
On fast steeds a-riding, with flaming broadswords
And on all fours beside them with shrill screams like sirens
From hell speedy ranks of fiends flanked a-wiling

Then looking down crying lord god louder than a smokey whore's cough
In a crowded powder room of a sports bar at dusk
Her gut cramped up as her teeth did chatter
With the shame a poor dad to blame for core matters
Like four glass homes in a driving storm shatter
She turned around and climbed back down the diving board ladder