(I thought I had friends,
But when I die,
I see no-one there.
I’m hell-bound
Over being held down.)

I saw mankind going through life in a childlike manner
I saw saw them toiling, saw them suffering, and
becoming gray for the sake of things which seemed
to me to be entirely unworthy of this price, for money,
for little pleasures, for being slightly honoured
it’s something brought on themselves

Spirits in animal skin

blind to what they truly are

tearing apart what once was kin

leaving in wake an open scar

spirits shed your animal skin

remember what you truly are

the time has come to join your kin

and mend a deep and open scar

There is a golden chalice

far beyond the pale

where you may drink of all your dreams

if you can lift the vial

There is a place of time untouched

where unkind blade will never meet you

Tread the path of blinding light

to find this place is pure and true

There is a fire of untold heat

to lead you in this sacred quest

cast your self upon its flames

consume the body, and leave the rest

On top of a tree

between heaven and hell

was a beautiful bird

and a magical bell

when man came to be

the bird rang its bell

and from the great tree

many gifts fell

On top of the tree

between heaven and hell

man sought to steal

a bird's magic bell

when man got to the top

of this mighty tree

they stole the bird's bell

but the bird had broke free

In the ruins of a city

between heaven and hell

wan will re-discover

an old ancient bell

And though it has been long

since man did this crime

it will pain their heart

when they hear its chime

Where there once was a city

between heaven and hell

will grow a new tree

from the tears that had fell

the tree will replace

man's greatest mistake

and those who still sleep

the tree will awake

deep within the forbidden forest

past the crystalline tree

there is a lake that reflects the sun

and that is where you will find me

Dive deep within its waters

let them make you clean

there you will find a treasure

that man will rarely see

In the window of dreams

I showed you a sword

to wield as a peasant

and not as a lord

a sword that is not weapon

a sword which is a tool

to empower the wise

but burn the hand of a fool

In a time not so distant

when you open your eyes

wield this sword as a gift

but not as a prize

for this sword

that is trusted with you

should guide you to light

and save what is true

To know truth is disown a loss of life, slowly simmering to a boil, to be free, when we’re all pawns to the marriage that freedom has with reality. To know truth, to be in real freedom and that loss could be morals, values, memories we hold dear to our heart, it could be a loss a friends and family. Things we had worked for, like a career. Sober and seldom, no longer to be enslaved to one’s own dreams and desires, breaking away from earthly suffering. To be a muse is the same to be a sinner, may as well be better, wrapping one’s soul around this world and drop poems veiled over dogma. To live in narrative of society, is be worse than laymen, scorned forever in flaws. Hypocrisy, those who dream the most, often live less and never to know truth, freedom and be mastered by reality. Be weary of false prophets in culture. There is nothing sacred about an individual moral codes. Otherwise, society would have no need for revolutions.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtS0z4J0UWE

I once played a game of cards with the devil, under a blood red moon upon the lake of our lady Babylon. With a grin, the devil did win, for his hand had totally waisted me.

Shower time- It's better than normal time. Especially with the smell of herb in your head. Step out. Dry off. Hit the herb again. It's time to start the day.

I ingest 3 cups of coffee, and hit the herb again. Then I start my day. I go out into the world. Out there where it is cold. Out there to slave the day away just to do it again the next day.

Please tell me that there is something more than this. I beg, but I get nothing.Maybe in the end, that is all there really is... Nothing. This thought's cold logic sinks in, and I am sick.

Sick of things done in repetition to no end. Tired of hearing the same one line joke day in and day out.

Welcome to my store.

Can I get you any more?

Thank you, come again... and again... and again...

I can not take it any more!

Oh, wait! It's time to clock out.

Hear how the pen scratches the paper. Rolling on fragments of thought. Dripping with the same ink as yesterday. I am bleeding all over this notebook. Could I ever write loud enough, so that somebody could hear me screaming?

I once played a game of cards with the devil, under a blood red moon upon the lake of our lady Babylon. Plain and clean, the devil's hand was mean, for it had totally waisted me.