Dedicated to all the lost souls out there.....
Eyes that betray an emptiness for a thousand miles,
the cigarette that burn to the end of all notion of feeling,
How much you were the bright sun of our lives,
The silent murder of the blackening eclipse,
Circumstance be the bloodied daggers in their hands,
The numbness of our souls be the walls that shut us in.
And you are but a ghost to all,
with blank stare against traffic,
with one broken arm raised for salvation,
You signal the alarm in your defense,
Is there any of us willing to listen,
We with our libraries of conceit and respectability,
We, like you, who are as dead to our own guttural madness.
And to you who roam Stockholm bleeding on the alleyways with abject misery,
warbling old songs like a bird with it's wings hammered to the ground,
With tears you tried to access...
the cold ashes of dreams deferred,
Wasting away to cadaverous LSD parties in Cambridge,
A roman candle burning to the oblivion of all excesses,
'No shelter!' Screamed the radio as the whole the world burns,
Even more so now as we all don the bloodied masks of our politics,
Another pathway to the dream,
Empty sterile clinical white as good as a morgue.
But there perhaps others that are willing to breach it all,
The last man standing against the post modernist jugernaut fueled by litanies of tears,
With fists clenched and heads up high to the blood red skies,
Death be of no consequence to the man that wishes to lose it all,
Indeed he had lost it all,
From hospital corridors of Cheras
to the Elysian Fields of eternity,
No wall keeps us down,
The rusted cage of our own list of personal self hated broken down.
We all wear the new robes to a Greater Righteousness,
The past of our despairs be buried never to return,
We who have now found relevance!
We who have now found closure!
Eyes that betray an emptiness for a thousand miles,
the cigarette that burn to the end of all notion of feeling,
How much you were the bright sun of our lives,
The silent murder of the blackening eclipse,
Circumstance be the bloodied daggers in their hands,
The numbness of our souls be the walls that shut us in.
And you are but a ghost to all,
with blank stare against traffic,
with one broken arm raised for salvation,
You signal the alarm in your defense,
Is there any of us willing to listen,
We with our libraries of conceit and respectability,
We, like you, who are as dead to our own guttural madness.
And to you who roam Stockholm bleeding on the alleyways with abject misery,
warbling old songs like a bird with it's wings hammered to the ground,
With tears you tried to access...
the cold ashes of dreams deferred,
Wasting away to cadaverous LSD parties in Cambridge,
A roman candle burning to the oblivion of all excesses,
'No shelter!' Screamed the radio as the whole the world burns,
Even more so now as we all don the bloodied masks of our politics,
Another pathway to the dream,
Empty sterile clinical white as good as a morgue.
But there perhaps others that are willing to breach it all,
The last man standing against the post modernist jugernaut fueled by litanies of tears,
With fists clenched and heads up high to the blood red skies,
Death be of no consequence to the man that wishes to lose it all,
Indeed he had lost it all,
From hospital corridors of Cheras
to the Elysian Fields of eternity,
No wall keeps us down,
The rusted cage of our own list of personal self hated broken down.
We all wear the new robes to a Greater Righteousness,
The past of our despairs be buried never to return,
We who have now found relevance!
We who have now found closure!