My God, my Lord, my Puppeteer,
Our ten strings begin to fray.
I’ve crossed and crumbled many times, I fear,
Your voice sounding further and farther away
You leave me live on your foggy land,
but have forgotten that I exist.
Once I stopped grasping for your transparent hand,
Christ! I flew into an abyss:
If sin is death then how do martyrs fall?
By sharing the air with ***** lungs?
Peace and war, Apollonian brawl,
Virtues preach through lustful tongues.
An overheard conversation between Yin and Yang,
In my own mind, God’s voice gently sang.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
My God, my Lord, my Puppeteer,
Our ten strings begin to fray.
I’ve crossed and crumbled many times, I fear,
Your voice sounding further and farther away
You leave me live on your foggy land,
but have forgotten that I exist.
Once I stopped grasping for your transparent hand,
Christ! I flew into an abyss:
If sin is death then how do martyrs fall?
By sharing the air with ***** lungs?
Peace and war, Apollonian brawl,
Virtues preach through lustful tongues.
An overheard conversation between Yin and Yang,
In my own mind, God’s voice gently sang.
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