(no subject)
Tell me, omnipotent little lordling, squatting in your musty cave
Can you weave the net? Can you cast the skeins of starlight, tug those squealing little silken threads?
You sit in shadows, their light touch your only contact
and yet they cut into your palm, the blood oozing along them like a message all its own
Well, blind harpist of the mind, what now? Cast off your senses or scratch them raw?
Make the cave your world, or the world your cave? Draw them in or pull yourself out?
I've seen the shadow, raw clay doll, the violence you crave in self-horror
Scabs of hate over an unhealed wound, craving unfair justice, does revenge taste that good?
Well, buck? What do you have to say for yourself?
You called the wolf, and your armor became you. Your guard became your mask, and in time mask and self joined.
Why do you tremble now when it returns to protect you?
Can you weave the net? Can you cast the skeins of starlight, tug those squealing little silken threads?
You sit in shadows, their light touch your only contact
and yet they cut into your palm, the blood oozing along them like a message all its own
Well, blind harpist of the mind, what now? Cast off your senses or scratch them raw?
Make the cave your world, or the world your cave? Draw them in or pull yourself out?
I've seen the shadow, raw clay doll, the violence you crave in self-horror
Scabs of hate over an unhealed wound, craving unfair justice, does revenge taste that good?
Well, buck? What do you have to say for yourself?
You called the wolf, and your armor became you. Your guard became your mask, and in time mask and self joined.
Why do you tremble now when it returns to protect you?