The precipice of my temple
Falls into the crevasse of your
Eyes
Again And Again

Gold euphoria is written on walls
of the tiger's cage.
Walls oozing the ink of the forgotten
Poets and scribes. Pens
strewn on the mausoleum's endless floor.
Words of men still scream
The blind injustice of the fleeting souls.
The indifference
Of the red masquerade will take us all,
Take us in the end.

The
Harvest
Has begun
In the presence
Of the tar drenched sun.
As
The snakes
Prowl the streets;
Harvesting death,
Hatred and deceit
The
Righteous
That gather,
Cower in fear.
Which would you rather?

The
Rooster
Will bellow
If ever there’s dawn
Out in the meadow
Or
On top
High Canyon,
We WILL destroy
That old tar drenched sun.

I’ll carve our song
In the bark of
Ethereal
Trees
For the world to
See