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Vilanelle Revision 1 & 1/2:

Just a puddle of broken things.
All the pretty things go away,
just the cutting of broken wings.

Its just a pile of smelted rings,
gather your keep everyday
just a puddle of broken things

Hollowed out eyes of our dead kings,
suppressing every peasants say;
Just the cutting of broken wings.

It's just empty headed queens,
running about every which way;
Just a puddle of broken things

Just a couple disjointed scenes.
Come, please listen to my parley;
Just the cutting of broken wings.

Rest our weary feet in cold streams;
Now pretend pretty; Go away.
Just a puddle of broken things;
Just the cutting of broken wings.