"Dust thou art to dust returnest"


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Thursday, April 4, 2013

The Needle Pushed The Red

The needles on the ground now...
Spinning on your own blood
The thoughts are out...
Sent through the wire 
And into the eyes of comprehension 
But will it ever be known? 

While the madness is quite the same 
Just more silent in the night 
Nothing forgotten just deeply repressed... 

You have read the overture 
Red glass has found a way
From shards to the vase
Where flowers held us... 
So delicately removed from reality.  
So delicately removed. 

From shards
Where flowers died in us... 

You have read the overture 

Some without prayer in mind
Have lost all importance in the landscape between 
An unfinished painting and the part of me that isn't real. 
Would come to terms with all defiance 
Would lose sight on how meaningless life is
How money changes everything...

The needle is spinning on red 
To just finish your Goddamn cigarette 
And go to bed...

Without prayer in mind. 

The needles on the ground now...
Spinning on your own blood
The thoughts are out...
Sent through the wire 
And into the eyes of comprehension 
But will it ever be known? 


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