Whose flag is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite angry though.
He was cross like a dark potato.
I watch him pace. I cry hello.
He gives his flag a shake,
And screams I’ve made a bad mistake.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The flag is dirty, muddy and defeated,
But he has promises to keep,
he repeated endlessly this was not the end:
As if he could make reality bend.
Tormented with nightmares he never sleeps.
Revenge is a promise a man should keep.
He rises from his cursed bed,
With thoughts of violence in his head,
A flash of rage and he sees red.
Without a pause I turned and fled.