Can a man reach the height of his dreams?
The true mechanic of righteous action
Outstretched grip of the ripping seams
Tumble down from its holy retraction
And realize everything is for naught
And everything you have ever sought
Lies in his graces dazzling bright palace
Lies of my own form the cracked floors of solace
Filled with the bloated, pallid, and free of ambitions
Tangled hair and deepening wound of my intention
A ****** pond greets you with its callous retention
Stowed beneath, dark images taunt these last mentions
As they all remember this will be their
home
As they lay down and look to god's cryptic
dome
And they all search
He is not one but alone with the
masses
Stolen from him, he finds his future passes
From teary grip
I guess it will never rain in these fields
because it is pouring
God has closed this asylum, to contain shades from Elysium
For you see a sudden sight, multiplied by their unending night
Lead hauntings to stare through their own shapeless eyes,
In the fields of mourning