(May 06)

Like a rose, you simplify fate
And you close, all thought and debate
Well god knows, what troubles await
They will only reveal,
When you bow down and kneel

Not to him, it’s the mirror you face
When you sin, there’s no tumble from grace
You begin, and you end in that place
There’s no book to be read,
Don’t forget what I said

Now the clouds, are aligned like a dream
And they shroud, the half moon in between
Sun and ground, it’s not me in this scene
But a picture of thought,
A collection of naught

And my robes, speak not of my make
Have I posed, the right questions too late
I suppose, the fake memories I make
Are assumed to be real,
And from others I steal

Real belief, which evades the unknown
And beneath, these false thoughts we’re alone
This is chief, ly the reason I groan
And those others before,
Wrote it down in folk law

So we dance, to the tune of desire
And romance, is to what we aspire
There’s no chance, that my words will inspire
There’s good reason of course,
That I shout till I’m hoarse

Well the streets, are teeming at dawn
And we greet, each other forlorne
Forgoe speech, and replace it with scorn
For you’re better of dead,
Than befriending those dreaded

Black suits, paranoid and all armed
To the tooth, wrapped in gold and alarmed
By the truth, thrown away like a charm
Now it lies on the road,
Dried and twisted and cloved

With my heart, and those strange reconstructions
Of craft, which stand uninterrupted
Like art, that outside all instruction
Stands firm with its foot,
Upon piles of soot

And the leaves, fall about me like tears
In degrees, the warm rays disappear
While the breeze, cuts away and makes clear
That the difference between,
What is me and unseen

Is not skin, nor the colour of eye
It’s so thin, that soft veil of sky
That we’re in, and around and inside
There’s so much to account,
In so far as we count

We exist, its so crude and mundane
We persist, just like Sartre explained
I insist, outside thought we’re the same
But survivals a must,
Till we draw ourselves out into dust.