Noise...the bloody thing in the skull,
pulsing and wheezing like roadkill. No knife can castrate, and no
drug can sedate this brute, nothing but nothingness can offer solace.
But nothingness isn't anything you can get, so roll the dice, I
suppose, play the game, why the hell not? But it's been such a long
game, and I don't have a mind to play anymore.
Oh little goddess, why do you torment me so with your love? A goddess shouldn't love a filthy little rat, or a queen care for a diseased peasant. Yet she spills her blood everyday for my little wretched soul, stomping out her own majesty.
Oh little goddess, why do you torment me so with your love? A goddess shouldn't love a filthy little rat, or a queen care for a diseased peasant. Yet she spills her blood everyday for my little wretched soul, stomping out her own majesty.
Damp things catch fire, the parched
drown in her glory. Up is down, I guess. So how do I fall for her? Oh
numbers in sequence, colors in palate, notes in scale, order, logic,
but the chaos calls me back. The bearded beast on throne wants my
soul, the carpenter, nailed to worked wood, wants my life for his
own. A zombie god, resurrected from my own past life, eating away at
my life now. I fall into the void they left when I found out their
lies. A vacuum of purpose, a negative space for hope.
A triangle set with stones; complex wonder of man, a cross of wooden planks; simple. History is a strange thing, light grey versus dark grey, no black and white. I find it all too good to be true, and yet it is, without empty promises, only assuring the pointless wonder of it all.
Noise...the bleeding thing in the heart, writhing and whimpering like a battered pet. No love can console, and no hatred inflame this fool, nothing but everything will satisfy, but everything is so out of reach. Play the hand you were dealt, the cards are capricious, and the house mundane. It's been such a long game, and I can't wait for the next round.
A triangle set with stones; complex wonder of man, a cross of wooden planks; simple. History is a strange thing, light grey versus dark grey, no black and white. I find it all too good to be true, and yet it is, without empty promises, only assuring the pointless wonder of it all.
Noise...the bleeding thing in the heart, writhing and whimpering like a battered pet. No love can console, and no hatred inflame this fool, nothing but everything will satisfy, but everything is so out of reach. Play the hand you were dealt, the cards are capricious, and the house mundane. It's been such a long game, and I can't wait for the next round.
Bet your life, my friend. It's all you
have that's worth anything, well...maybe. Who knows? All just pieces
in someone else's game, aren't we all? Those scaly fucks from another
world, drinking the blood of simple men. Hm? No? Well, the bargaining chips in a celestial prick measuring contest. Hm? No? The many
reincarnations of one soul then, perhaps. Perhaps not.
It's been such a long game, and I dunno
if I can play anymore.
