The inebriation of exhalation as the wild beast burns it's gut.
A trampling hoof that guides aloof this creature's weathered foot.
Time again a gait that fails
the weathered engine derails.

The other follows, a steady pace,
pursuing subtly an unfamiliar face.
Their paths crossed not without reason
though looking now it cannot see them.
What past has taught the future taunts with,
its exhausting, this furious pursuit of treats.
It helps the creature to it's feet.

What east feeds, west shall feast on.

The water offered, soon enough gone.
And though the west one was defeated,
it smiles in gratitude, almost sweetly.
But deep inside, the fire burns
the lessons learned are lost
as winter comes with a hunger born of frost.

Binary beasts, slave to each other.
Two wayward children split from their mother.

Sleepy.....       I'm.... a
tired, type. The hype of life
reminder....     right?

Fired, if i don't wake....      on time.
But I.....   I don't deal...
                                                   with stress.....      and strife.

A broker in knives, for slicing ice.
It melts much faster
in little bites.

Lead me on this frightening
path of lightening
in a world that's getting faster
on a journey to disaster
without permission of the master
the plan will fracture.

We ourselves invite to rapture
and the laughter of the one thereafter
as we still ignore the lesson
on our mission of compression
turning days into seconds.

I relax, because I care
not because I care not.
The day is long and life is patient
Be the ball and chain of nations.

My neighbour's hand is on my porch.
The porch that's on my neighbour's land.

My seat is in my planet's sun,
its fun, to play out in the heat.

This summer home upon the roof
the proof you need not be alone.

The garden's through my landlord's study.
My landlord, who's my buddy's buddy.

I've got the time to call and chat
but that I need not do, in fact.

I live five paces from my friends
no calls nor sends, I see their faces.

Our little city, above the street,
up thirty feet the world is pretty.

I do not crave the land below
I'm high up on my magic meadow.

The Dungeon           Calls
The Dungeon           sings
In wincing                tones
of wicked                  things,
the entrance             looms
The doorway's          dead
The wailing               wins
and claims your head.

You run away,
you don't look back.
You know what's peeking through the cracks.
Not one to bare the light of day.
It waits, beyond
while you decay.

The Dungeon howls.
The dungeon's sweet.
The dungeon send you off to sleep.

It's safe, this place
where you reside.
Out there you fear
sunlight collides
with ghastly skin
and telling eyes
so let them get on
with their lives.

Noise-synced delirium
Acidic injection
objection! Too loud
impassive perception's
important to render the silk from the fiend
The synths coming at you
with sawing and beams
and there, pristine
the song of the axe
the splitting of atoms
they're tuning the parallax
revving the tendon
the chord they depend on
the pipe of the warlord
and howl of the warhorde, stampeding
pounding the earth it's a drum
and the thrum of the piper
who's flashing his guns
and valkyries, mounted,
join in the rush
and then hush
the clouds seizing
the chance to combust
and to shed a tear
or a thousand drops
of ecstasy
onto the trampled crops.

Synchronize my family
and feed them to the wind
let their fevered hearts glow bright
upon my wired wings.

Anaesthetize paralysis
indulge in wave analysis
and stomp your feet and pump your fist
upon my wired wings.

Send the signal from the ground
to the twisting ceiling
that's when the feelings bounce around
upon my wired wings

You're flying out on gifts of fire
and living on the wind
so crank it up and find the wire
that leads to sonic wings.

Shower in the sea of wishes
hear the mountains sing.
When wind coils and earth fissures
beside re-wired beings.

The slender shades that eyes evade.
Pushing, rolling, breaking, fixing.
Working hard, draining days.
Thrashing, mauling, tweaking, cringing.
Crying pleas, the beggars' seal,
a veteran voice of tired appeal.

The pheromones of filthy beasts,
riches of the silver peaks,
a cocktail made to quench the thirst of the class that comes in first.
And off with the shades in a wooden hearse.

They find the fact the sun will shine down into worlds
of salt and lime a relieving sign, of better times,
but sedated is this state of hope and with it their ambitions broke.
Light indeed is what they are, of coin and health and lands afar.
And in this state of steam and shadows,
they long for rules and signs and arrows.