Antonia, it’s time to rise today
Your breakfast is ready, your tutor waits
“Time is running", mama says
There’s much to learn as a princess
Antonia, follow whatever we please
Stand tall and straight, hide your scarred knees
You’re no longer a little girl
You’re bound to be a queen of the world
Antonia, quickly, put on your shoes
Lace your corset so it’s anything but loose
If you’re short of breath, you’ll have to wait
A true royal must never be late
Antonia, there’s no more time to play
With your chin up, follow what we say
You must learn to be a trophy of France
To walk with grace, to speak, to dance
Antonia, stop laughing like a witch
Don’t be a disgrace, you’re not a bitch
You’ll change your name and all in between
Marie Antoinette is who you are as queen
Marie Antoinette, with beauty from the gods,
You’ll marry a man you’ve never loved
You’re off to France, now say goodbye,
You are to leave everything behind
Marie Antoinette, you lover of life,
With your luxury and power, your kingdom’s in strife
As you live your own Versailles delusion
Your kingdom is brewing a violent revolution
Marie Antoinette, do you remember the sweet days of sixteen?
Here it all ends, with a cruel guillotine.
Antonia, free spirit, never meant to be
A girl chained by royalty, a reigning queen.
How many pilots died and old aircraft lost when they flew over jagged snowy peaks in the remotest corners of the world? Doing a dangerous job knowing the risks and trusting in fate and luck to bring the through. Some never made it, there planes impacting vertical mountain sides in sickening crashes. Bodies lost forever, frozen in the time of death. Icily cold and otherworldly remote.
From the Andes to Himalayas, Alps to the Rockies. If you screw up or your engine stops, you’re going to crash and suffer. Survive and you’re screwed, twenty thousand feet above sea level with no chance of rescue, just a slow cold death.
Of the ones who live and beat death in the mountains, they have stories to hold their grand kids in awe. Did you really fly a C-46 over the Hump, risking Jap fighters and Mother Nature? Sure did son, it was a walk in the park. Of the ones who didn’t make it, they remain forever on coldly beautiful mountains holding up the roof of the world.
Maybe their ghost will remain there forever, in rapture of the beauty of icy mountains, forgetting how they died.
There were never killed
by barbarians who came to conquer,
they are still alive, they congregate.
There are still there, alive,
praying to their gods
for the strenght, they will need the strenght soon.
There are still there, hiding,
getting ready for the war
with those who killed them long time ago.
They were just pieces of paper, buried under a field in Germany. What harm can bits of paper do? Nothing. It's what's typed upon them. Good job the location is secret.
The mayor of a local town looks for them. He digs up the fields. And gets death threats. Such is Himmler's legacy on these docs. Also hidden is alleged Jewish silver. Not gold?
UK investigative journo did a report; his result was nothing physical. But the letter to the mayor, hidden room in the castle and rumours were there. The new ground penetrating radar scanner was meant to be great. No go, damn rain.
Go back in the summer, find the docs and silver. Change world history. And run for your life. Nazi guardians safeguarding this secret will hunt you down. This generation's evil soldiers.
WW2 reaching out to touch us. Detailing more than the Final Solution.
The building is old,
the roof sloping,
leaning like a flower straining
towards the last glimpses of sunlight.
In this land,
where I was born,
there are many.
That slope and weave,
crooked like the spine,
of an old man or woman,
bent due to stress,
and the pressure of age.
Scarred by the winds,
Traces of elemental expression.
Heritage they say,
While they're left to wither.
We are saturated in our consolation of a rotary picture which continuously retells itself
are we drifting forward or is the illustration merely reoccurrences of our ancestors
Clouted in coldness, dazed hideaways through snaking passages- the euphoria of intoxication
contemplating the rationality of it all
Can we control stronger mindsets or are we only composed of lost moral and the decomposition of others triggered by ourselves
Twines of fanciful traditions are slit only to be streamlined by degenerates
Are the values once taught to us forgotten by the shortfall of mortality
The pedestal of beliefs fought against, demolished for- weakening our freedoms and sensuality
are those the catastrophic terms to which we lay our foundation upon
Perhaps contemporary life cannot be told through simple aspects
In the city of love there walks a boy,
His fury as red as the flags
That hang above his head.
An alien, neither here nor there,
The censored fears
Of a sister
Herded like cattle.
No more rationality,
The city of love has no love for him.
Monday morning metro
A postcard never delivered
Five peppering shots,
Blood as red as the flags
That hang above his head.
‘I am not a dog.’
The glass shatters.
A heinous smile
And the screams of the thousands
Echo through the November night,
His the loudest of them all.
I wear my heart on my sleeve, which kinda explains
Why I've got scarred up arms and constant chest pain.
It's why I'm cautious when shaking new hands,
And upon new meetings try to discover their plans.
They call me paranoid, and say I should relax,
But every time I try, those scary thoughts creep back;
They seep deep and root themselves on the brain,
So they can monitor my soul and feed off of pain.
I think I see beyond reality; underneath of what's there,
Using the eyes of the demons underneath of my hair.
They sang their song of strange visions of my fate,
My ears heard it and opened a floodgate,
In an attempt to drown the voice, but now the waters too high.
I'm floating on top of it all, getting crushed by my scalp,
Desperately searching for escape like a man trapped in the Alps.
I can't breathe because I'm stuck on "same".
I can't breathe when I feel myself going insane.
I can't breathe through stolen lungs,
Because my life is a fight that I never expected to be won.
I'm not sure if it makes sense, or if you can relate,
But it's hard when someone else takes over and controls your fate,
Leaves you with a mess of tons of mistakes,
Knowing damn well your entire world is at stake.
I no longer feel like this temple is sacred,
An unwanted intruder infected it, and security was belated,
An unknown assailant ripped down the support beams,
And as many issues as I had, why wasn't this foreseen?
Because I'm not a fortune teller, nor am I a prophet.
My hearts on my sleeve and there's no way to lock it,
So please forgive me for rolling up my wrist covers,
But these hands of mine can only connect with lovers.
I have these things I cannot get over,
I have feelings that are bad for me,
I have a history with you,
And a shoebox full of poetry.
Your card is hanging on my bedroom wall,
The one you gave me for Valentine's Day,
I guess I haven't found the time,
Or the courage to put it away.
And every time I wear the shirt,
You gave me all those months ago,
I cry. It's all that I have left of you,
A reminder of why I can't let go.
Your ghost lingers on all of my things,
It clings to my clothes and the bed,
It fills the very air I breathe in,
Putting sad thoughts inside of my head.
I cannot escape the memories,
There are traces of you everywhere,
No matter what youre on my mind,
This grief is heavy and hard to bear.
These things continue to weigh me down,
I've attempted to make them depart,
Although I try and force them to leave,
It feels like they're glued to my heart.
There is this black bird I see,
It creeps around on top a chimney.
It feeds on wrappers from litter
At which I sigh, for it is bitter
To see such a creature to be so black
Searching for what it will lack
More frequently, despite history.
But for my view this is a new hope,
For this isolation I cannot cope.
I’m pretty sure most would prefer
A sky with changing clouds over a brick wall
That is as dull as a book with no pages.