Post by Icor on Mar 3, 2005 5:40:11 GMT -4
Explain the blindness that which is where I lie,
A passion without wisdom and in need of the mind-set dignify,
Though when the goal becomes translucent and yet more,
Mention my name once for crimson irises on both sides of glaring war.
A fire-pit is where I send morality upon extremity,
And all those honest words begin to flow in harmful levity,
Take those bony fingers and snatch away,
Gold spills out of wrinkled palms where they are due to pay.
Mention my name once for shackles of cold rusted brass,
And narrow those pools mixed fellow and lass,
Tear out that heart of your conscious mind,
While tipping over the coffin of its crackled bind.
Until finally all names are named and addressed,
Each ones’ lust becomes stated opaquely and confessed,
In so much as the other melts before them in despair,
That which is of those I infect with words like “Life’s not fair”.
Call me Covet which is suitable for somewhere like Hate,
Or sometime like Cage, and somehow like Weeping.
For I can fit in them all, and am usually their keystone,
Whereas positive isn’t a pondering – it’s a fairyland clone.
But enlist me as you will, but the world is not ours to keep,
Too bad moments like I can’t have a time to sleep,
Because so few eyes are smart enough to glance out another way,
And reflect from that optics a sense of a self-righteous fray.
Can’t reach it from here I leer,
Over countless, mentor and peer,
Always hungry and always fed with lost life in the end,
Greed will make a ring under each eye until they turn blood red.
A passion without wisdom and in need of the mind-set dignify,
Though when the goal becomes translucent and yet more,
Mention my name once for crimson irises on both sides of glaring war.
A fire-pit is where I send morality upon extremity,
And all those honest words begin to flow in harmful levity,
Take those bony fingers and snatch away,
Gold spills out of wrinkled palms where they are due to pay.
Mention my name once for shackles of cold rusted brass,
And narrow those pools mixed fellow and lass,
Tear out that heart of your conscious mind,
While tipping over the coffin of its crackled bind.
Until finally all names are named and addressed,
Each ones’ lust becomes stated opaquely and confessed,
In so much as the other melts before them in despair,
That which is of those I infect with words like “Life’s not fair”.
Call me Covet which is suitable for somewhere like Hate,
Or sometime like Cage, and somehow like Weeping.
For I can fit in them all, and am usually their keystone,
Whereas positive isn’t a pondering – it’s a fairyland clone.
But enlist me as you will, but the world is not ours to keep,
Too bad moments like I can’t have a time to sleep,
Because so few eyes are smart enough to glance out another way,
And reflect from that optics a sense of a self-righteous fray.
Can’t reach it from here I leer,
Over countless, mentor and peer,
Always hungry and always fed with lost life in the end,
Greed will make a ring under each eye until they turn blood red.