Monday, April 03, 2006

The Mystic Machine

Looking at yesterday, waiting for the hours to tick away,
I lie on all my lies, in self loathing and pity they're allies.

Passed out, gazing on reality, intuiting without alacrity,
Asking myself who's wrong? or did I steal my own song?

I see horizons and beyond, of the lack of walls, I grow fond.
Alas, I can't see all these bars, unless I try to reach the stars.

Sometimes greenery fades, n' am surrounded by bars n' spades
n' kin in pirate masks, my blood drippin from their fangs n' casks.

Then my spirit boils, arouses strength in me from mystic toils
an' then I clench 'n 'bout to lash, but find the masks gone 'ere a flash.

All thats left is the green, the sky's bloody blue, my blood's sky-serene.
I wonder why n' wherefore the scene, if even evil is so upright n' pristine?

I marvel at the mystic machine.


--
Look in to my eyes, step in to my realm.
Signing off today, for now.

Red
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