Should I write about love?
Should I write about lust and the worship of the bodies?
Should I write about the future?
Or maybe about the loss of the past?
I do not know.
The fading spirit of mine prevents me from this seemingly easy choice,
The weather is bland, the colours are pale, the minds are at their spiritual high, the men are raging,the women are entertainment and the heavy pencil strokes on the empty spaces are calling for my expected demise.
I decide each night to leave the former to later times, better times, but those times never do come, I dream of expressing the want of defiling something beautiful and then fade swiftly into nothingness.
As I ponder these fleeting thoughts, a melody accompanied by a song invade my brain;
The war-cries of our tribes
will ease us through the storm,
and the long sighs of our lies
is proof that we were born,
and sins of mortal lives
will see the truth be torn.
We sing from dusk till dawn
the songs of ice and stone,
the lion sings aloud
and the pup remains alone.
Dance in rings of fire,
for sins you must atone,
and drink the wine of Eden,
for the drunken mounts the throne.
There was never a point, nor will there ever be.