Perception
Clutching handfuls of ash and fashion it into the shape of a heart, a precursor of things to come.
Rise like the Phoenix, die like Prometheus; wake daily into the role that one must.
The klaxon sounds out for dinnertime, find the line that caters to the tastes you are told to desire, identity becomes lost in the desire of conformity; like a lover's embrace the mask wears the face, and you never existed.
The body, the soul it all becomes necrotic tissue, it becomes cardboard; there is no end to the suffering, no end to the victimization.
It's almost like instinct to map out oneself by relation from point A to B.
We hold hollow hands, and lust after shadows; there is no border across the void. The dead and damned can catch our gaze; play red rover with the automatons, with the hollow men, with the straw men.
Only the dead know passion, only those long gone desire what was fettered away. It's a moment gone forever except in the mind of the beholder. Ragged claws gripping tenuously to something that was never possible, believing in the impossible, hoping and praying, salivating and gnawing for an imaginary fantasy.
Only the darkness behind the eyelids knows the nightmare of paradise; and one keeps it close to it's heart that G-d can give one the torment it requires to shoulder tomorrow.
I want to be with you under the night sky, I want to leave those deep old dark old woods alone forever.
The face, the name, the clothes don't even matter just sing for me, sing to god, sing for mercy, sing to the mother and pray to the father.
Finding desire, finding purpose, set alone and set apart by the blade, set apart by the pill. There is a distinction by smell, by the blood spilled; you can find it with the help of willing participants, but any good and solid creature can stand alone and rise above on their own two feet and by their own black hand.
It's easy to suffocate by those same fingers clutching one another, it's nothing to drown in the shit one might immerse themselves in and easily join those waters and become indistinguishable.
One drop in the bucket is little more than a shovelful of dirt in a premature grave.
Rise like the Phoenix, die like Prometheus; wake daily into the role that one must.
The klaxon sounds out for dinnertime, find the line that caters to the tastes you are told to desire, identity becomes lost in the desire of conformity; like a lover's embrace the mask wears the face, and you never existed.
The body, the soul it all becomes necrotic tissue, it becomes cardboard; there is no end to the suffering, no end to the victimization.
It's almost like instinct to map out oneself by relation from point A to B.
We hold hollow hands, and lust after shadows; there is no border across the void. The dead and damned can catch our gaze; play red rover with the automatons, with the hollow men, with the straw men.
Only the dead know passion, only those long gone desire what was fettered away. It's a moment gone forever except in the mind of the beholder. Ragged claws gripping tenuously to something that was never possible, believing in the impossible, hoping and praying, salivating and gnawing for an imaginary fantasy.
Only the darkness behind the eyelids knows the nightmare of paradise; and one keeps it close to it's heart that G-d can give one the torment it requires to shoulder tomorrow.
I want to be with you under the night sky, I want to leave those deep old dark old woods alone forever.
The face, the name, the clothes don't even matter just sing for me, sing to god, sing for mercy, sing to the mother and pray to the father.
Finding desire, finding purpose, set alone and set apart by the blade, set apart by the pill. There is a distinction by smell, by the blood spilled; you can find it with the help of willing participants, but any good and solid creature can stand alone and rise above on their own two feet and by their own black hand.
It's easy to suffocate by those same fingers clutching one another, it's nothing to drown in the shit one might immerse themselves in and easily join those waters and become indistinguishable.
One drop in the bucket is little more than a shovelful of dirt in a premature grave.