Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,
I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
Despair behind, and death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feebled flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh.
Only thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one hour I can myself sustain;
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

can't say have found it
though trying every bit
now in broken wing

an eluding greying wish
one thread of missing piece
i'm still searching.

from all the cluttered mess
doors windows address
sky and trodden ground

beg this weakening arm
to have it hold it firm
what's nowhere to be found.

from surround's all the sight
daylight darkened night
milky way and stars

seek these rolling eyes
unravel from disguise
that hidden universe.

feebled though this mind
crushed by daily grind
inching to depart

might one day lift the shroud
hear its voice speak loud
reach the mystery's heart.

Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
     Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,
     I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
     And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
     I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
     Despair behind, and death before doth cast
     Such terror, and my feebled flesh doth waste
     By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh.
     Only thou art above, and when towards thee
   By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
   But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
   That not one hour I can myself sustain;
   Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
   And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

The heaven hurled the sun —
Eternity for me —
And steady Chariot merged from hell —
Then threw the dust in sea —

For justice was to die —
The Orchards all had known —
Executor reposed the blade
That feebled to the bone —

It's a cohort to weep about
I'd dream about crying to

Making beautiful songs only I'd understand, because of course, I am a baffled artist
Because I am true to my ego, I have nothing to show for it, it's only sincere,
that I stagnante, that I don't create, that I move to a different country
All I want is to believe, believe

Oh my god, I need you close, I want it back so bad, the vision of her I had, the one who was tortured,  

The one who cried and threw up her emotions in paint and scribble
I miss her - the one who was crude
Not you.
You're boring now

You decipher your emotions
And now everyone is bigger than you, in a way

But you still tell everyone to shut up, just in a more intelligent way, not in a

Trueness is sweat,

Tears and blood you work cry and bleed
But your blood is sort of whet on
You bleed fruitless vanity
And dampen the clothes of crying feebled children







wee wooo wee ooo weeooo
trip grand jetée
Pennies sold on fruitless array
Pity souls in the