FreedomStones tell me where they lieAnd liars tell me I should cry.I only sit alone in the graveyard;I listen to those who have died.They, oh them who know more than I.I really cannot wait to die;And rest in pieces in the graveyardWhere my "eternity" will imortaly fly.
Tonic InviteYour sedative sleep defines the party,So seven Teasing guests blow out the candles.Your dreamy slumber is left to carryAll the thoughts your mind neglects to handle.Gluttony performs as warm chocolateMelting over juicy fruits of lust.To escape the traps that green envy sets,A substantial pride becomes a must.Take a chance with medicated greed,To later see the strength of murders wrath.With swollen lips the luring music seedsThe roots that tie you to a passive path.Enjoy the party in your cloudy hallWith angry friends and pretty chemicals.
Say It IsAre people really crazy?Or do we creat insanity as another safety?People are crazy, there is no doubt.We create everything, so therefore we all have insanity.Sanity; clean and moral. Okay. Do we understand?Crazy is not irrational. It is reason because everything is a reason.Pills for symptoms for symptoms of pills; one way to solve things.Superstition can be crazy sometimes. But, crazy has become a bad word.Are people bad? Yes, yes of course. But, that is okay.Humanity and its worries; red balloons and the number 23.They are trips for steady walkers and sometimes taken much too serious.Where are ghosts? They are everywhere.Superstition does not give permission to talk to any of them.Does that sound insane? Well, get over it.Death is a Super-Stition, and we have it labled quite wrong.Does that really sound crazy?
Tenebrous ClarityThe meaning of Night whispersEver so soft its dynamic songs,Effortlessly moving tranquil magic.The racing lights have already seen deathAnd those below have no idea.Incandescent blindness.Night is not a time of blindness.Those with eyes open may hear its whispersAnd dance with the ghostly idea.Daylight envies Nights seductive songs;Only the moon is the security of death.The shadows blanket with magic.All in repose while darkness shivers magicInto the evening on the world of blindness.The meaning of night walks with death.Secrets hide in whispers,Secrets hide in soft songs.Reality burns with this idea.Night and time have their pattern and ideaBut neither Day nor Night steal magicFrom each others songs.Day is hot, frilly blindnessAnd Night is a music box that whispersOf reality, passion, and death.Day does not understand death.Slumber is not for Days ideaYet nocturnal ones know how to whisper;Love and lust and magic.Nights flaw is also
Make MeTo break a name, amount a gain,Ensure a guess, fix attain.To earn and clear a total change,And consider the approximate.Establish, act, then regard on view,From there arive, and progress to.Now equalize the scale and balance wheel,But stop with sin and move the yeild to spill.Represent a look that seems,Ready for the make-believe.Fix a hit and lay down the cook.Become the stimulating look.