Mean Mud

I spend my days knee deep in mud
Searching for things travellers dropped
Burrow worn arms into the sludge
Hands scratch for treasures I can clutch
Pot belly drags across the muck
Filled up with vermin that I pluck
My pile of salvage slowly grows
Amidst maggots, toad and rat bones

There's a ringing in my ears and fever in the eyes
I ache to cracked core, tattered lungs are on fire
My fingernails are shattered, these battered lips bleed
Matted hair receding over skull's scarred fields
This body may be broken but my spirit's still sound
So I keep on digging down into the waterlogged ground

My masters come at end of day
A share of spoils they seek to claim
Should I attempt not to provide
Whip's lash will part my mud-caked hide
Fruits of hard labour laid to waste
Meagre few trinkets left in place
Cursing the loss of my lifeblood
I settle back into mean mud

There's a ringing in my ears and fever in the eyes
I ache to cracked core, tattered lungs are on fire
My fingernails are shattered, these battered lips bleed
Matted hair receding over skull's scarred fields
This body may be broken but my spirit's still sound
So I keep on digging down into the waterlogged ground

One of these days my masters will pay
I'll rise out of the mud to draw first blood
They'll wriggle and struggle between cracked teeth
'Til their spines give way, yielding soft, sweet meat
I'll eat my fill, devour them complete
Lust amplified by each heart's last beat
Then it's back in the muck, to stagger and lurch
Consumed by my unending search