A pale pantomime of tomorrow's promises weeps under a stain glass crucifix made of chemistry beakers and paraphernalia
Bong water tears
His hands are taut and gaunt
educated with rigamortise
Rewarded for prime performance with a hammer and pencil to hold so dear
Few hands still dance and sing
upon the black and white smoke engine coffin that always brings
a lack of light that's too enticing
Too embracing
Too inviting
A chance to play darts in the dark we say
A Defiance of daedalus
The results of after days
Front row seats to the Devils of depth and delusion
dancers demanding a next count of confusion
Illusive illusion
Or a scene too big to believe
her majesty's explorative bow directs the orchestra
A sorrowful tune
As curtains part
The scene lies before us
Chance is in captivity
12 years deep
Stuck between one dream and another
Our waking days spent waiting for slumber
Sordid soliloquies shape our thoughts
while colored patterns prance restlessly on undying textiles of our ancestry
Lapping up the waters of life as if it's very existence is not a carefully crafted and complex system put in place for your comfort in existence
And what is comfort without enjoyment
You watchdog you
Standing in chilling winds awaiting an intruder that has no interest in petty wares
No
He lies in the same coffin with cold beads of sweat collecting on his brow
His eyes want to stay shut but the lack of light is too enticing
Too embracing
Too inviting
A chance to play darts in the dark we say
A Defiance of daedalus
The results of after days
Front row seats to the Devils of depth and delusion
dancers demanding a next count of confusion
Illusive illusion
Or a scene too big to believe
her majesty's explorative bow directs the orchestra
A sorrowful tune
As curtains part
The scene lies before us
Chance is in captivity
12 years deep
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