Apron Wizard

Oh reddened creature of man's myths
Wrinkled wizard of the woods
For pot of gold, let’s look
Across the fields of greed
Your leather apron, guide us
Much missed Joy we'll meet

No time to feel the breeze
Stop for ravens, us they see
"South Express, you must board
I must advise, a journey long"
Bow and spill some snickered coin
As we depart to gallows cold

The South train is steely chill
But body fumes hot the air
And settle on few sleepy men
With eyelids open, an empty stair
As we depart to tunnel's grey
As we pass the children's laughter

Wake up weary soul, we have come
Shake the sweat off your brow
And give your last breaths to land
Indeed, it is a land of wonder
Where children breathe the summer rays
Where pots of gold are nothing more
But flakes of corn in their bowl