Who could they get to bury you?
Where all that once was
Was buried in the sorrowful minds of man
A telling of the past
In common tongue never to last
Oh honey sweet nectar
Dripping from the finger tips of broken glass angels
Flying from the dust of butterfly wings
Each impression of their worth
Tainting their already tattooed image
Brought on by the pages of worn book
Ragged idea oh' praised culture stinking
Of old dirt and ancient ways
Needed heart prints the ways of love
In my tunnel vision like mind
A pressing bare foot on the soil
Of the man who awaits by the gate
Decisions of fortitude made from the ones
Behind clean white sheets black ink and disguise
Signing off while signing in to a party
Being thrown by their own magistrates son in law
Formulaic monstrosities engrossed in imaginations
Of a mind demented twisted tickling with forbidden homosexual feverishness
And as the metal glares in the hot doubting sun
Where the clouds drift like conveyor belts
Built from hands that are a long way from alive
And the ticket tape that makes the old one's chest cave
And the young men in their ways sway
Loneliness tightens around the trigger of your plastic gun
As the police men's runners caress the metal badges
Of men in mustache claiming they are the rightful gunners
Each beat on this Earth vibrates through and around me
Like music that was never meant to be heard
Trickling neath' tons of lava encased dirt
Each reel of the film calling out to be saved for the eye
Will make the work done hail justice and not strife
Listen to the call of the dying lion
Alone without family or pride
No tree to find shelter underneath or star to guide its way
No river with possible forgiveness
No grass to make one last bed
All bread has been burnt all grain buried and lost
The clothes upon thy' skin looks of silken diamond
Makes me query if you lady are the real thing?
And yet you move in front of me like I do myself
I am now in a world I can say I have never felt
With your bed sheets on fire
As your necklace reflects the moon
And that you never seem to tire
Praying that soon will never come true
But prayers rest on a ashen oak tabletop
Among the dreams spoken softly near midnight
No, the love here we know cannot stop
Lo' death would be all that could halt it
Heathens begin their descent for all to watch and to win
For where, my lady, can I stop so you may begin?
But why is the stage where only actor may work?
How the circle doth ensnare yet release you
Simultaneously enriching one's life as well as all that be around
Sad eyed for the mad cries out for all that live in the lie
And the drum of the former poets dying
In streets penniless without pen, paper, or dreaded faith
Why have the Gods broken their pact to man?,
Leaving all that wished it not to be
Naked and weaponless staring faded ill ghost
Harps you play the final ballad
Pen you write the final sentence
Voice you sing the final note
And actor you say the final line
A breath inhales released into the passing wind
Heartbeat echo blood sport of the quill
Shakespeare sulks in the pages of his work
Men forget they are men
Women remember they live for but once
The tied and tired we
Dance on glorious horizon
Hot and
Ready to live