Raze the fields of poisoned crop.
What antidote is there?
No cure for absent hearts
and black tar tears.
Burn the stores of harvest grain
claiming to be clean.
Save the innocent seeds
so we me grow free again.
The sunset is a warning
of the chaos of night.
When the horizon floods with black ink
and the sleepwalkers emerge
to dance under the stars.
Chanting spells at the moon.
And the sky hides the time,
if it even passes at all.
You can sleep
through the fever dream.
But where's the fun
in being afraid
of the dark.
Pray the foghorn comes no closer;
bringing thunder over rolling waves.
A stampede across an open prarie
bellowing with ancient lungs.
Are there secrets with the crickets?
Whispering in harmony
to the rustling leaves?
There is no hospitality
Conversation lives between everything that breathes.
Where is the beholder,
deigning beauty from a glare?
Through gaslit haze, mirrors tell stories.
Reflected distress, framed in antique oak.
How long have you longed
to pass through the glass?
Just to prove what you're shown is real.
Is it you looking back?
And how can you know
they're not still staring
once you turn away?
Take me to another world.
Away from the streets that bind me,
to roam a land abreast with curiosity.
To wander under new stars
and drive atop new roads.
Through old earth I haver seen
with new faces I'd like to meet.
Take me clear into mist and cotton.
Launch a rocket through heavens door.
What a rush to be perched from a bird's eye view
and see man's triumphs laid bare like toys.
Through history, we've chased the wind.
Forever grasping at fleeting breaths.
And now we've brought all of man's glory and sins
so much higher than where we began.
The Lord whispers prophecies to one to hear.
"Heal thy neighbor" he commands of the sleepwalking dead
At the temple, a candle still flickers,
and a scholar works out what was said.
"But Lord, I am but a priest.
What miracles can I divine?"
The ***** idles in silence,
but the candle will burn through the night.