A hen’s cluck as the clock strikes midnight and a univers is swallowed.
All in that narrow time of a kernel at its end, stolen in the eyes of a foul animal.
And midnight bestows her silence and an answer is revealed as eternity is exposed in the backdoor of a burning sun.
And on and on it goes up above and down below.
The trumpets play and the embers glow in that secret flame that the others call night.
Oh harder now a moon chilled silver in the depths of a mind insane.
It reeks with the stink of an Eskimos doubt; noxides are infummed, forgetting a thousand centuries of ways.
Shinning forth, the star-hood glory f all is betrayed by the tortuous pain of an unclean mind.
The little ones toss in their slumber, living the wholesome life of clouded dreams.
When the silent shadow wisps into the dusk of dawn, an ancient wind of winter sweeps through the star lit summer.
And I ask when the wheel of days turns forever faster, churing the hey into milk… and the worms into gods.
A torment of wonder sweeps across the skies-leaving us all.
The little people of dust, like the sap stolen from winter in a farmers hand; leaves blow like ashes…dust in the wind.
But forever it blows, that wind of the night, whose shinning armor decals the heavens with starlight.
Forever invoking the death of him, knowing that great master magician.
But how long can it go on?
This song of destruction, this twilight of seduction.
In an ape’s dream, a mind insane creates the days, hours, and ways.