I long for destruction
For Erosion
For the winds to tear down the mountains
For the eyes to pierce my soul
For the words to stab at my heart
Is that not my art?
The painful prose of winters strife?
It calms the masses into the night
The earths porticoes rising through,
Towering sadness that comes back anew
My words are recycled
Reminiscent of Christ's disciples
Who shackled their sins to a cross
Only I'm the one who lost.
The devil, the jailer, the judge, and the muse
I embellish their words and stand abused
The sailor who lost his one guiding star
I'll be alone in the end
Sir Nicholas the Tsar
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 2:49 AM UTC
I long for destruction
For Erosion
For the winds to tear down the mountains
For the eyes to pierce my soul
For the words to stab at my heart
Is that not my art?
The painful prose of winters strife?
It calms the masses into the night
The earths porticoes rising through,
Towering sadness that comes back anew
My words are recycled
Reminiscent of Christ's disciples
Who shackled their sins to a cross
Only I'm the one who lost.
The devil, the jailer, the judge, and the muse
I embellish their words and stand abused
The sailor who lost his one guiding star
I'll be alone in the end
Sir Nicholas the Tsar
