it let the bird fly, learn, grow, change. but when the bird falls, stays the same, decays, a thrill climbs up our bones as the crack of the wishbone echoes in our expectant ears like a loud, resounding gong - as our supposed fate awaits.
I write my songs in the echo chambers of my heart a deep dark dungeon of hellfire and unclean secrets only ever have my eyes seen my ears heard and my heart keep my demons tremble in awe of the songs I sing in the night Like a lamp in the corner of a dark house I wait for next morning I wait for a new sun to arise and resurrect me from this decaying carcass So that my soul can echo the song of twelve thousand elders and saints singing Glory, Hallelujah I've been set free But until that day comes I shall echo in the chambers and echo in the airwaves and wave my hands in surrender Here I am on my knees Almost giving up Almost giving in Almost giving Always Giving Echoes of a desperate dying heart hoping and waiting for such a day to come Glory Be To God
mind the mind, mind of mine – mind the body and be bothered. away the water and wait: voice veers vicious, violent. forget forevers for now. leave a little letter in cursive, of course – curse this curse.