a Dark age is boiling in our veins
I fear the ones who recycle
the sun standing still, the majesty of blindness
we rehearse anxiety tales on burnt toast
the smashed illusions are high taxes
due to payoff in the blood of days
as subjects of this world we no longer know
who is the master who is the slave
only the prospect of fragility remains the same
Power speaks with ever translucid words
certainty gets lost betwern the ear and eye
what do you want to say with the truth
no law, no therapy for tears
I would say
the circular time of a false beginning
signals the errors of the world
while the sun keeps revolving
in his vast solitude