Poetry

I've seen how they operate,
those old-school-playground-playing worshippers
of lost empty dreams
which symbol shall we draw today?

Oh it's oh so confusing
this picture they are abusing
to make us worthless ones think
It's impossible to the brink
of self discovery

They laugh and they laugh and they laugh

It's not confusing at all
It's not about how big is this triangle
or how the star of david is too small

No! It's nothing of the sort
So put down your sorcerer wands
it's time for magic books to abort

Lets just close our eyes
and listen
to humming bygones of druid monastries
oh england
How fertile your ground
It seduces
me to the point my lust can not be found
as it changes direction
like the wind you breathe
sucking at my neck
this idea you want me to concieve

But alas you say I'm a needle in the haye
looking around aimlessly
in another grey day
no hopes and dreams
too fearful of karma
Can't bare to face reality
can't deal with humanities drama

And so I lay dead
in an undying world
watching each day pass
through once clean looking glass

An empty shadow of an empty world

What have we become, my fair maiden of old?

Where was our master, when this part of the story was told?

For I must of missed out,
this purgatory I was due
Or I wouldn't of agreed
to be forever so blue.

Yet our life is but over,
it's true, so true.