Am i blind? What is this? Why have the gods forsaken me? Wait, I see a light. Within the light I see only dark. Where am I? I wake. Thousands of shivers run down my spine as I rise up towards the source. I am alone. The light seems to be moving, does it want me to follow it? The ground beneath me is soft, almost sand like. I follow the light, why is it so dark?
It seems like hours have passed, but time is irrelevant in the eternal darkness, it seems. Even the source is dark, only less dark than it's surroundings. I tire. I reach toward the heavens in prayer, for that is all I have left. No answer. The light beckons. Millions of thoughts run through my mind. Am I dead? Is this limbo? Or purgatory? I shake. I do not even remember who I am. How did I get here? Weird, I don't feel like I'm dead. I still feel pain in my legs and my body from my journey. I pinch myself, what sort of horrible nightmare is this? The pinch hurts. I am sweating. Wake up! I shout, as I bang my head against my hands. It's no use. The only comfort I have, is the presence of this entity, that for some reason is leading me into what seems like oblivion. I become more and more weary of it, yet I'm drawn to it. It is my only hope. But first I must rest. Both my body and mind. Feels like most of the journey is ahead of me. I can't give up. Not now. I fear I will be consumed. It's as if something is watching me, I can almost hear it's breathing. The incessent silence feels louder and louder. It hurts no longer.

The bird is just a stone's throw away
I don't have a stone.
The bird flew astray
Now I'm all alone.

I hear a cry
The distance is great inbetween.
Still it might be worth a try
A better throw I've never seen.

Where it went I still don't know
Was it the one that cried?
Where it came from, down below?
It lay just as I lied.

One dead bird, it wasn't me
There is no longer a distant bellow.
The greatest throw you'll ever see
There is no longer a distant hollow.

We are puppets in this show,
And nobody knows what lies below,
But everyone assumes they know what's above,
There lies the God of creation and love.
But how can I be sure he hasn't fell?
Well only continuing this miserable existence called time will tell

the emergency of life
the spot lit fight
vigorous
apparent
the thrashing of the harvest
in the threshing of our night cares
sew what you mourn
in the blot of the moon

it’s all a swallow
one gross reactive swallow

your time perception
is gourded
your feelers
are fluence and torted

everything’s fun today
the sun spills the sun today
all fur is on end
all eyes are refreshed
fleshing mirrors
absurding the observed
playing with mother’s scissors
dog sugar dog sugar
attend to the worlds genitals
re-open The Eden for business
and theatre

Negative one,
I am cold and I ask of you
What are all the ways,
That you keep yourself abused?
I have seen the scars,
of the one who was left behind
I have seen them fall,
In this bloodstained mind of mine

I have seen the spark,
The spark of a thousand flames
How do you find ways,
To never feel any shame?
I have felt the loss,
of the one who had many names
I have heard the chimes,
The echoes of my remains

The outcome you feared
The liquidity of choice
Another of your kingdoms
Sat under rattling bones

Soaking transmission
Coming from the mountains
Give what light is left
To slightly fill the fountains

Dried up by everything
Made clear by those who explore
That it's really not worth it
To stick around and implore

Life here has no beginning
Life here has no end
Just those vocal chords singing:
"There's only sand.
There's only sand.
There's only sand."

Pick your visits proudly
But don't you dare turn cowardly
Accept your faith lightly
Then you won't wither so loudly

These ghosts are neccessary
You wouldn't want them anywhere
Outside your mind chanting:
"There's no point, is there?
There's no point, is there?
There's no point, is there?"

Forced as the walls of past
Built upon foundations of dread
Antennas reaching for air
To at least entertain the dead

you are star, you are moon,
a blur of white in the rounded night,

tranquil as the narrow streets at nocturne,
where the tall streetlight breathes

its half-moon yellows, love flowers
behind frosty windows; behind

avenues of dark stone and gothic
eaves the dust of the moon

starts to settle, weaves a golden web.

How did I get here?
Did I build this place?
I'm on the highest cliff
Gazing down towards the skyline
The skyscrapers move like trains
Bound for regions unknown
Do they ever stop?
Where do they end up?