Stiletto** marks in the tarmac,
City's been so hot it melted.
Linen shorts replaced by less;
In the evening, it's cooler.

Black lights and black bras
Glowing tops and blue tongues.
*** on the beach; one drink
Too many. But it's worth it.

Tongue piercing and
Two Prince Alberts
Discovered in a hurry.
It rocked fast like the night.

*** on the beach. One more.
We did it again.
Spilt a little. Blue stain
To match her tongue.

It's a work out. Higher heels
That make no mark.
The tarmac is safe;
Can't get stuck.

Glow sticks and necklaces
To hide the stains.
Top's still glowing
And every smile shines.

Black light. Black light.
Black light. Blue tongue.
Blue stain. White top.  
Black hair. Black light.

Then Dawn arrives
Bringing a sobering breeze
And destroying the fake light.
It's time for linen again.

And he walked. He entered the dim night.
On a still dare to clear his head.
Thoughts and anxiety bound and tight.
He moved as if knowing that he had been misled.

The bright town of shimmering lights.
The cars that bleed into the street.
Focus past from thoughts on heights.
To the walkers and ghosts that move on the creep.

Albert brooded through the park he walked.
"Falks Ave" where stood his homestead.
Clothed and hidden, his own head distraught,
Thoughts left unsought, words left unsaid.

Where eyes of musty grey show might,
And intimidate the passerby refuse to look,
Upon him, a man of ultimately dim sight,
Friends left unmade, hearts left unshook.

He sees a memory of his own and quickly looks away.
As the shade of a man who already knows his past.
That the history of his lost heart and his present lead astray,
Wounds left untended, Love left ungrasped.

The sound of a train moves distantly so.
Albert sits at a bench and huddles in the cool.
"I don't wish to be here, and yet I still go.
To soothe my soul by looking as a ghoul.

Lonely and cross at what I can't know.
Thinking if I stay here forever, I'll be in the ground.
But I just don't understand why it happened to me."
Help left ungiven, Answers left unfound.

His eyes assess his condition.
The park at his back, the road to his front.
He thinks of an old superstition.
That maybe he just wasn't enough.

That life simply moved as fates hands dictate.
And he is but a puppet being played on his string.
To move through pain and pleasure in his state.
To ultimately be gifted with a gods own blessing.

And then the world shook.
And he didn't know anything.

Beckon the lost soul.
Come to where we lay the wreath.
For your endless pain.
Reward the end of your grief.

And Albert moved on through the sky.
Where choirs of angels sang.
"O' joy welcome, the soul" they cry.
"Welcome Albert" their voices rang.

"To the kingdom of heaven you come,
Bearing tidyings of love to him on his throne,
Where his glory will fill your heart, strong one,
Come, to the kingdom of heaven, rest so,"

And the angels, with their robes and halos,
they viewed Albert as a noble son to be praised.
Their faces, like his, like the humans that lay low,
Beneath, as his beloved, ripped from him stays.

And on an endless expanse of white, Albert steps.
The singing lows to a hum as he walks.
To a small gate, like the one to eden I suspect.
Where an old man waits at the fork.

"Not many people see this young man,
you are here to be judged for your sins."
"And of the crowd, around, are they part of this plan?
To see my past before me, torn out from within."

Click, his fingers went and the angels were gone.
In a blink they had left from his sight.
"I don't enjoy hurting a fragile man, so calm,
be calm and don't worry, nor fight.

I am merely an observer who listens and will speak,
I suspect you're a man who tried his best.
I have faith you will be given a chance at the peak,
To enter. Now, to the rest."

Albert clenched and unclenched his fists, but did not find the strength,
to move from one spoke to the next.
To pass on from this life, and move to the penthouse.
And take his place in the eternal breast.

"What is your name?" the man asked.
"Albert, and yours?" "I am Peter.
I am serving as the eyes for the kingdom of heaven.
And for you, consider me your praetor."

"Like an administrator?" Albert asked, his eyes feigning interest.
"Exactly! Like one of those with a process to follow."
"I see." Albert said. And with that, he was silent.
And Peter began, aware of Alberts heartfelt sorrow.

"You are guilty of many, but proven false in none.
Your story is not one to be ridiculed or held,
In contempt, I find you quite lacking,
To love, I see in your body given to dwell."

Albert began. "I have betrayed, I have hurt, I have lied.
I have done nothing to deserve a place amongst the stars.
I feel I have done everything wrong in my life.
There is nothing to be proud in those memoirs."

"If your story were different, I would agree.
For now I can say that's not true.
But arguing is a game for fools on the ground.
So, with passage, to heaven I grant to you.

With serenity you accepted your mothers cruel words.
With courage you faced a fathers wrath.
Your own friends, you decried, but you fought and you loved.
And to their fates, I have no kind words, for what they have."

An angel believes that Albert is worth saving.
Albert believes he is wrong.
And even Peter could not stop this fate that was caving,
Into a hole in Alberts mind made unsound.

But Peters eyes had risen to above.
As a single black form in the white.
Was looking back down, unflinching to he,
who would judge those souls on their flight.

And he raised his hands as his the angels had appeared.
Their armour clinched up in the beyond.
And a flash of darkness, stole sight from the heavens.
And Albert appeared by a pond.

The end was not there.
The flight was at an end.
From where had Albert been thrown?

To the confusing becoming,
of a baby lay bear,
Albert, on his back all alone.

Straightening files and writing names.
Of fables, tales and speeches of unseen.
Where word of the fantastical align with his aims,
So there sat Albert, finding what he could glean.

"Where does the light go from here?
Where will I be when I die?
I wish not to be in hell, no line will I do there.
To heaven I feel most unlikely for I.

Juniper... I wonder where you would go.
Where the world would have you be.
I wonder to which place you would sow.
I wish you were here with me."

The poor man continued his sorting.
His plans, his ideas and their action with do.
And when all with which shined divine, became that reporting.
He took all with a sword to keep and run through.

For the words in the paper.
The lines in sand.
Wash away with lies much greater,
Than truth unable to stand.

Albert looked at the cross, he studied its wood.
The smooth lacquer that bore his touch.
And where the lines of his studies, of all that is good.
Turned dour eyes as a crutch.

"Where does god to be with man, hold in esteem?
The frontward facing pain in my heart.
Of a woman gone, folded in the seems,
Of a world that is tearing me apart."

He pondered and drew yonder to in a sigh.
And there was no one to listen.
And there was no answer from on high.
And so Albert moved on, he moved as if stricken.

Test: translated alarms are
Often a secret master. This necklace
It is associated with adultery.
The trial began to be expected.
Yellow is a real and unusual girl.
This is your dream, your dream.
your dream dream, maybe I dream
Albert, you have to die
In the stomach, in meditation.
It has been transformed. Save me
another "mind is safe, sexually,
happier and more beautiful "
but they lost or worked abroad.
Important sometimes
right "Poverty is always pregnant,
dressed and dancing. This is
the eighth time My traps are partly
broken and your service can
It also happens "horse". Discouraged
for the protesters essential: thought
thought absorbed or implied.
Meditation, meditation, meditation,
inspiration, prayer, philosophy,
environment, spiritual absorption,
reduction, violation, spiritual dream,
Dream, pain, sadness, sadness. I miss him
mobile phone "Mama Alberts
Suspension and general thing "
ÁNGELES: It's empty to meet
The needs of others. Dear darling
kind thanks He said: "It was
careful and compassionate,
Echoes: censorship, focus.
or approach. "Your work is reflective.
and provocative.

Yellow is a real and unusual girl.
This is your dream, your dream...
your dream dream, maybe I dream;
Albert, you have to die
In the stomach, in meditation.
It has been transformed. Save me
another "mind is safe, sexually,
happier and more beautiful "
but they lost or worked abroad.
Important sometimes
right "Poverty is always pregnant,
dressed and dancing. This is
the eighth time My traps are
partly broken and your service
can. It also happens to "horse".
Discouraged for the protesters
essential thought; thought
absorbed or implied by Meditation,
meditation, meditation,
inspiration, prayer, philosophy,
environment, spiritual absorption,
reduction, violation, spiritual
dream, Dream, pain, sadness,
sadness. I miss him
mobile phone "Mama Alberts
Suspension and general thing "
LOS ÁNGELES: It's empty
to meet The needs of others.
Dear darling, kind thanks
He said: "It was careful
and compassionate, Echoes:
censorship, focus or approach.
"Your work is reflective.
and provocative.

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