I've been here before,dressed
in these clothes,clutching to these feelings,
looking merely like a fleshy shadow...
it's funny how knowledge
makes you frail and less worthy
of those golden coated letters-
I fail to see power where perdition
is present...
my back is damp from running
and my lips are chapped
beyond repair-
there's a warehouse outside this window,
all empty and invisibly ablaze,
almost like a mirror of
my own gaze...
I seem to be caught in between
a sheltered mind
and a crackling hand,
damned and cursed and happy and free-
weary soul!
weary feet...
there's a thief around the corner
of my being
and it bears a familiar name-
something old,
something new,
will this game ever
not be in vain?
Niciun comentariu:
Trimiteți un comentariu