it pokes, succumbing to the slightest touch
some look on in horror, some never budge
personally, im a fan of torment
which brings sweet relief, to this peaceful boredom
so we slash, at least i do
purposefully, and yes time soothes.
whispering false miracles,
(but isn't that oxymoronic? false miracles?)
who has a direct line... i want to call her
gaia, terra firma, this earth, this dirt we stand on
infinitely cruel, she provides a platform
the apparatus that we grab on
and never give up, its oh so beautiful...
the attack's on, dreams against myths
myths against prose, prose against riffs
the resulting carnage is melodic
but i guess thats what you call pain... morbid
No comments:
Post a Comment