from a bed of swords lies the jack snake
whom thinks he has the bite to take

down his enemy up one floor
whose hand he sees on heavens door

so the surpent sends his guilt
from the bed he had built


and thinks no less
of the grave distress

as he casts his shame
on those he seeks to blame
yet the shame is true of him and who
the surpent scurches
from his well lit perches

and with little looking he shall find
himself an enemy of those behind
for place them all side to side
then you'll see the nothing to hide

that they're each the same
no matter the cut
or mix of mut
for he is who & me & you