the hour speaks its tune and the world dances to it
in perpetual movement hand in hand to the eye
through the nameless ages of silent symphony
i wait for its rapid step to pass
on the way through the halls of time

a fool and his mothers milk of
answers for all occasions from the most fashionable of sources
like the distant days enlightenment from a bubble gum wrapper
time slows to a walk as it dawns upon the teacher that all who learn
have not the same measure of thought to consequence

my only thought as this caravan of the soulless passes
is of the eyes peering from 'neith the ragged tarp
the filthy lenses of their vision
carpets my senses with the intensity of the truly mad
not a shed tear blemishes their near perfect in unison laughter
what manner of beast birthed this nightmare of the perverse
what corner of rough madhouse could
be the home to such

the old hour limps through to its finality
and its tune is renewed with the freshly birthed hour
the old hour is buried in the ashes of the new hours burning desires
as seen in her now awake eye
she reaches for me
and pulls me slowly down into her viper kiss
i willing surrender to its poison tastes
for she is young
and willing

the fool having exhausted his mothers milk
of quick fix answers
lays down his defences
and is overrun
weeping the whole time
for his lost paradise
for his lost chance to be the star of his one man show