I drink death like wine, to the bottom,
With every cell, every breath.
It beckons me like a star in the night,  
Like a mad love that won't let go.  

I cut the silence like a skin,
Blood is flowing all over the world
Who called me to this world of the dead?

Angels weeping ****** rain,
Their wings are blades, their light is ashes.
The same devil in the mirror, in every corner.
Angels carry death like a secret gift,  
In their wings hides the devil's fear.
Every step towards her is a step into the abyss,  
And only she knows how to burn the soul.  
In every breath, in every step.  
We're all just shadows in her eternal game.
Obsession with death is an eternal sin.  

Even when I'm already dead,
I still didn't sleep well. not good.
Death is in my eyes and her eyes are in my heart.
The light is invisible to you, but you breathe, you breathe.
Death is the beauty that burns in the night,  
In her arms we'll live forever.                                                         ­                                                       Death is always good, like love.
It has its own power, its own obsession,
It's as beautiful as the first snow,
Like a knife that strokes the skin of your palm.
In her arms the age ends,
Eternity in her hands, infinity in the palm of her hand.

The beauty of death is the crunch of bones,
It's a scream dissolved in a dark soul.
No beasts or shadows can be banished here,
nor the angel who has become the infernal ark of sorrow.

Can an angel be cast out of a man
An angel? He is my veins and my blood.
There's a silent darkness in every blow.
Do you hear, Angel? With your wings
You're just as much a demon, just as much fog.
Angels carry death like a secret gift,  
In their wings hides the devil's fear.  
Angels can only carry death
The darkness in their eyes is my vow.
To live, but only by dying. That's the way it is.
Death is my faith, my honor.

Angels are pulling, leading the way,
Their wings are demons, their light is deceit.
The same angel dances with me,
Only to banish him is a bitter fog.
Death is the same as me.

On the edge of light and darkness,  
Dreams break through the gloom.
Where the cries of seagulls drown in the dense gloom.  
The shadows on the stones are their strange secret.
Ash stars are painted with thick brushstrokes.  
They cut the eye like a blade in the hand.  
Each wave blurs the boundaries.

The cry of the soul, crushed in haste.  
Blood clings to the hands like an innocent  
Here the murders sound louder than the earth,  
And every rustle stabs at the nerves.  
There's no end, no beginning, no light.  
Only the imprint of a hand that seeks farewell.

The clenched knife is as cold as my fear.
The wind whispers: "You're not alone here."
I stand like a prisoner on empty shores,  
Hoping the sea will scatter the remnants.  
Every step is a confession of my emptiness.

How do I survive this? No one taught me.  
A place where the light dies in the blood,  
And pain oozes from every fold.
The blood on my hands won't disappear in the rain,  
The evening, squeezing you to a scream.
Waiting for your eyes that see no reason,  
And silence is the only thing that eats away at my soul.

The winds sway the bridges on the edge,  
Where the sea hides the sins of others.    
And the fog covers the footprints I've left behind.
But the wet sand keeps me from falling.  
I stare at the footprints, disappearing into the mist,
And the sea can't hear me screaming softly.
All that's left is a look    
in which the night has long seen no living thing.  
But the blood that ran from my fingers to the sand.

A thick fog creeps over the land,  
hiding the world in deadly dumbness.  
Every step here is like a sharp edge,  
And the air is poisoned with someone else's guilt.  
The screams are gone,  
Only ashes in my head and clammy fear.
A thin line runs down the stones
They've been waiting for me, these walls,  
Every stone knew my face.  

People? No. There are only figures that look like people,  
Their eyes are the emptiness that breaks the shadows.  
Somewhere in the depths, a silence rings out,  
But it's not peace, it's a premonition of death.  
You look around, but you see only the bottom,  
Every minute is a black stream  
Where the past tears at the living voices.  

And there they are again, the grim faces,  
Their gaze is lust, like a price to pay.  
I step toward the water where the fog is dreaming me,  
But instead of light it shrouds me in shadow.
With every breath I take, it gets worse,  
The sand sticks to my feet, cuts like a knife.  
The blood will always be deeper in this terrain.

In the midst of the storm, I found my inner peace....

here they are again, the grim faces,  
But now I see their reflection.  
In their gaze is no longer rage, but forgiveness,  
And every stone knows I've stepped into the light.
I step into the water with hope in my heart.  
The sea embraces me, and carries me further downstream.

That's life.

Yes, those, these days,
the survivors
of these days,

we saw things our fathers
never imagined mortals could see

subcategorical weforms, evolved.

Some… subcategorical weforms
informed the world's conservative
branches
on the tree
of life… some
informed the latest cultivars… some
branched more citrusy, sour notes
become letters loosed
as knots
on ancient init-iation rites, keys
for the priesthood
of qwerty people.


the exalted authority
of incense burners,
and chanters
to the eerie flutes
of bone,

the high church liturgy
of order preservation,

Jongleurs, called forth,
as organizing engineers
of interfacing windows,

all, could leave, let be

the universe-ifying re-
ality, as realizable,
awesome
as a we
really
as a we, if
we agree, aggress
progressively, re
garding who can
know which lies

are legal,
because the Bible depicts
Yah himself loosing a lieing spirit, yes,

long justified
in all Bible authorized churches.

Evidence, that one may lie,
to protect the innocent or
to revive the mystery…
to be revealed…

As has hapt… evidently
we got away with it, that they say,

this we, we involved
in evolving,
as we think and reason, balance,

ratiocination, really, weights
and measures, balance useful

against cost
to become useful

what does it cost
to worship life? Value, at scale?
What price has been put on grace?

Knock, knock yokes.
Open deception,
become broke
beguiled, but convinced,
there is a trick
to making life,

some secret, kept
so some souls enslaved
by fear fed them as a child,

become guards, predicted to be
needed after prisons went commercial.

Train up a child
in the way it should go,
when it is old it will not depart
from the greatness made believed.

Witness those bred
to play football, the attitude,
is always ready, for some football…

mind relaxing Aztec version,
heart and soul, all in, big time!


The hero sees the end, his own
steaming heart on the altar.

As I sit waiting in the storm,
My car buffeted by the wind
And pedestrians leaning
At impossible angles
Those few who dare
Perambulate

I watch the ferry that will
Carry me back approach
The dock at a crazy offset
With wind driven waves
Smashing in spite
Against its side,

Outrageous weather
And red travel warnings
Everywhere yet this ship
Will sail and on it will I be
With my car and with my son
Travelling anyway,

And such is my life
In many ways,
For there are many waves
Hurled against me
And the winds that set against
Are huge,

But ships are safe alongside
The Dock
And I would be if I would
But acquiesce
But ships were not built
For harbour's shelter

But rather for the open sea,
And therein lies the issue,
Ships should brave
The oceans swell
And so the same
For me

come wash your sin with me,
i am a flightless soul covered in gossamer
i am love in the form of locks
you cannot unchain with bared teeth
and bare skin and the blade
of the twisted dagger strapped against your thigh
i adore your spirit but i do not
adore you. i am a capricious madness
drink me to excess if you so wish
me to be—a cold chestful of chemical smoke
a sink full of the remnants of
an unborn child, eject me
i am unwanted, i am a wanted hallelujah
with a swollen-gum smile in every
lithographed dead or alive poster, please save me
please buy black water lilies
for my funeral the priest won’t attend
please let the worms make homes out of my
gaping throat, and i shall whisper unto
you. one last time. it will be done
unto your will without wisdom
i am corruption in the form of conscience
i am the riptide washing away your firstborn son
with the taste of ****** verona.