Leftovers of your mind crumble and descend the hollows of their hallowed home. A tomb manifested on the planes of shadow, as the soul razed in the wake of awakening spirit. The crumbs of your former self now lost in the corridors of darkened catacombs. Long forgotten have been the pathways--a true sight out of mindless ambition. Beliefs erected on the precipice of the canyons of denial. Standing at the bottom gives one a truly abysmal perception of slipping from the boat. Overtaken by the mourning waves, whilst still clutching to the constraints of infinity. How they humble your bodily abode of living sacrament. Never would One hand suspect the Other of treason. I bundle all of your indiscretions, encapsulate a generation with the flit of the wrist, swallow the pill of tomorrow whole, and stare down upon whose dominion. Then the brain got leaky with her thoughts spilled on the floor. Her weathered flesh left my mouth tasting of ash and death. The fallout from a Heavenly cloud scraping the You from Us turning Us to Them in the time of lofty grass and malicious snake. They source the serpentine energy into paralytic partnerships. No utterance of the paradigm of effortless control systems. Which drift you into their trained states and altered boulevards. Remember what you will and will what you forget. But, will you remember the loss?
What was that? Who's there? Are they watching? This is me, and you are you. Is this what you want me to do? Will I do it wrong, or will you do it right? Can you show me the way or shall I wander all night? Keep me under keen eye for what I think and what I say trouble me as much as you. Why do you and I think too much or me too little? Jittery and jarred, my eyes are not their own as they search and search the sheltered room. Is my flight beyond schedule? How should I fly? Did you feel the treble of the light? I can't seem to think for myself, may I borrow a thought? Thoughts of paranoia, peering conviction, judging minds, suspended delusions, absolute confusion, vanity appraisals, faceless voices, guttural echoes, and roving buses. Who will stop me now? When will the gun go off? How odd am I to you? Will our altered egos rise in defiance or fall upon reliance? Dependence is a fickle fiend whose band of rubber goons is loose with their slippered spoons tripping from moon to moon in the pale milkman's light. Does the hole in my back burn? Shall I ask the same of your arm? Will her deceptions bend and melt away? Has her attention finally began to sway? From me to you to him to her at no avail. Are you an activist for the cause or a cause for the activism? Can the battle be fought? Will the judgments be surpassed? Is this car travelling too fast? When should we Eclipse?
Questions, questions, questions rambling through my head. A band of loose gypsies steal my morning bread. Hurt and dragged through the dirt, my ego drawn out on a napkin and left for dead in the 50
What was that? Who's there? Are they watching? This is me, and you are you. Is this what you want me to do? Will I do it wrong, or will you do it right? Can you show me the way or shall I wander all night? Keep me under keen eye for what I think and what I say trouble me as much as you. Why do you and I think too much or me too little? Jittery and jarred, my eyes are not their own as they search and search the sheltered room. Is my flight beyond schedule? How should I fly? Did you feel the treble of the light? I can't seem to think for myself, may I borrow a thought? Thoughts of paranoia, peering conviction, judging minds, suspended delusions, absolute confusion, vanity appraisals, faceless voices, guttural echoes, and roving buses. Who will stop me now? When will the gun go off? How odd am I to you? Will our altered egos rise in defiance or fall upon reliance? Dependence is a fickle fiend whose band of rubber goons is loose with their slippered spoons tripping from moon to moon in the pale milkman's light. Does the hole in my back burn? Shall I ask the same of your arm? Will her deceptions bend and melt away? Has her attention finally began to sway? From me to you to him to her at no avail. Are you an activist for the cause or a cause for the activism? Can the battle be fought? Will the judgments be surpassed? Is this car travelling too fast? When should we Eclipse?
Questions, questions, questions rambling through my head. A band of loose gypsies steal my morning bread. Hurt and dragged through the dirt, my ego drawn out on a napkin and left for dead in the 50
₵ bin. Can it ever be lost? When will it ever be found? How will the blind search? Why do I still feel her heat? How can it be?
I, father of the faulty seed, gave rise to an undying breed. She, mother of the mounting sun, led us to where water's brink. Crooked crust under bleeding feet. Crooks and dust overrun these streets. The free were left to wander the crossroads; raze the facades. Creeping crawling 'things' once lurked in the murk of Central Park. The dark waters rose from the depths of the Abylon, washing the sins and the muck from the gregarious gutter pups. Run, run, run to catch that train of thought. Hurry, hurry now, for later may be too late. What once was lost can never fall through the grate. The lack of chances left luck to fate. A ripple in a bottle was his only mistake. His albatross soared highest on a rainy day.
We all can't make the trip. A ticketed ride for two in June. Down the tracks that train did push. Off the map my mind did rush. Through the grid with anchors of rust. Disturbing sound signals young lust. Onwards! Mush, mush, mush!
Becoming the beings of bust.
We once were humans
eating the mush.
I, father of the faulty seed, gave rise to an undying breed. She, mother of the mounting sun, led us to where water's brink. Crooked crust under bleeding feet. Crooks and dust overrun these streets. The free were left to wander the crossroads; raze the facades. Creeping crawling 'things' once lurked in the murk of Central Park. The dark waters rose from the depths of the Abylon, washing the sins and the muck from the gregarious gutter pups. Run, run, run to catch that train of thought. Hurry, hurry now, for later may be too late. What once was lost can never fall through the grate. The lack of chances left luck to fate. A ripple in a bottle was his only mistake. His albatross soared highest on a rainy day.
We all can't make the trip. A ticketed ride for two in June. Down the tracks that train did push. Off the map my mind did rush. Through the grid with anchors of rust. Disturbing sound signals young lust. Onwards! Mush, mush, mush!
Becoming the beings of bust.
We once were humans
eating the mush.
