I hear them in the frail beating of darkness
they call asking to talk to their loved ones
their past echo's of reality resound in my mind
and all I can do is listen and relay their words
I never asked to be a in between
to be a representation of the dead
but here I am in the midnight hour
conveying the words they have said
To have a gift that is feasibly insane
to know others think me rather strange
I know half believe the other half are sceptics
yet my world is arranged not at all deranged
In the old days, oh those days
they would torture you
make you confess to their lies
and drape the cloak of death on you
But here I am
in the shadow of the night
working hard
to give spirits flight
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
I hear them in the frail beating of darkness
they call asking to talk to their loved ones
their past echo's of reality resound in my mind
and all I can do is listen and relay their words
I never asked to be a in between
to be a representation of the dead
but here I am in the midnight hour
conveying the words they have said
To have a gift that is feasibly insane
to know others think me rather strange
I know half believe the other half are sceptics
yet my world is arranged not at all deranged
In the old days, oh those days
they would torture you
make you confess to their lies
and drape the cloak of death on you
But here I am
in the shadow of the night
working hard
to give spirits flight
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
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