The tribunal's a drag, and the court is a bore.
The witnesses wait to be first to the door.
Prosecution is dry,
the defence doesn't fly,
and the sun has set twice on the floor.

So the verdict is yet to be settled - a debt
to be paid in a sum or some blood. Or a bet:
that the charge will be dropped
'fore the peasants are popped
in the head for their liquored-up threats.

What say you - are you numb to the boredom begun
or have you settled in for the guiltiest one?
When accusers solicit
a stop, we explicitly
yawp, "Thank the Gods that it's done!"


Penned by my hand on the 8th of Scarlatan, in the year 999 AF.