The OrchestratorThere in moonlit darkness, where the seas clash and collide with the breaking shore, horrid screams are muffled by the tarnished winds Solace.The Orchestrator
In the blackness of that perceived wish, a symphony plays.
Sorrow filled tears, cold hearted laughter, sings of atrocities upon the brink of disaster.
And as the orchestra, synthesizing all such iniquity, breathes life to death, the melancholy of all that was shall forever be... Seared to memory.
The orchestrator, dancing
DrainedDrained. Of hope. Of energy. Of will. Of happiness.Drained
I am but an empty shell for which Endless suffering May find a home. I am a hollow Statue.
And in the depth of this perception there is only one lasting truth.
A truth from which foundations Are built.
Even as the stars shine Even as hope gives its last breath Even as the day, once so young, Becomes old We walk the Earth As empty as The bridled glass Poured from age’s past.
Even with the coming of the new dawn,
The Lost WishThere, on that tattered shore we sat. We conversed from the cold Night air.The Lost Wish
Even as the tide of the Broken Sea crashed against the Sands. . . We spoke of simple things, you and I.
And when the clouds Gave way to the wind Our eyes gazed into the vast horror of nightmare.
For that which gleamed had, now, been cut at its seams.
And then came the sweet whispers. the sweet reassurances. the telling of love and fondness. All lies.
For it was our eyes that gazed
PurposeLet us give purpose To a work of artPurpose
Let that purpose breathe Let it sing!
Let us bring a smile to the old and weary Let us bring a frown to the ignorant
Let us and weave purpose into our 'eart. Let us shift Let us shatter Let us symbolize Let us simplify What you do not understand.
Let us give no purpose To the art of work.
Let that poison drown Let it gurgle.
Let us fathom suicide
Let us affirm to assimilation.
Let us not weave depredation Deprevation, Into our 'eart.
What a Long Day
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"And did we tell you the name of the game, boy? We call it Riding the Gravy Train."
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"And did we tell you the name of the game, boy? We call it Riding the Gravy Train."
--
"And did we tell you the name of the game, boy? We call it Riding the Gravy Train."
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Those are the days where the world is blocked from my view, an eclipse of my very soul; for humanity is my lifeblood. It is my very essence.
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Those are the days where the world is blocked from my view, an eclipse of my very soul; for humanity is my lifeblood. It is my very essence.
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