When I dance
I dance til the end is done, once and for all, til stars dry in night skies and once more reality looms and lingers, death white pale fingers on the deep rooted triggers it takes in order to get me back into this shithole sense of reality where you all lounge afraid to saunter into wonder with reckless abandon all hope, ye who enter here, because not succumbing to the beat is the same as getting beat, never beating the odds, the drums beat for us and I seem to be the only one willing to answer its call with one great and terrible fall.
After I dance
I forgot why this all mattered, all this matter, splattered on canvas with half-assed efficiency, deficient science denying religious deities, no hope no faith no rock and roll to save our souls, now its ick and commutes to duldrum mediocrity and disjointed union with your fellow man, no longer a god in a all-encompassing sonic universe supplied by some mellow band and whiskey/cheap beer combo shots from the dive bar.
No comments:
Post a Comment