Universe coming from nothing and by nothing
perhaps going back to where it came.
No sight or sound of purpose.
No true meaning to any name.
Emptiness of insignificance in the cosmic scale,
heart of the night renting
at discount rates aplenty.
Pick your secret room for the slowly dying,
to conceal hope's last fading wail.
But it's not time yet for lying
in the unconsolable shaking,
when there's a grand new opening,
a park of precious amusement
for the spiritless and breaking
soulless shadows riding their cart
on rollercoasters of made-up meaning
to satisfy the withering heart,
a mask and its smiling face
slowly torn apart.
In the vast cosmic ocean uninhabited
by deeper ground to praise or blame,
you dare to invite the uninhibited
put a bittersweet end to shame.
These are the stories we choose to share,
amusement by bonfire of darkest hours.
Some entertainment to cope and scare
dealing with that self-wound of ours.
But do take a look if you so dare
at the source of the fire's fragrant soothe.
Having created your own maps to share
you're prone to kindling lies with truth.
You think the stories aim to impress
and compel consent by sense's sober reason.
Yet the arousing aroma of the burning sacred
stupefies temper for tantrums of hatred
fits of intoxication for the willing treason.
Impress or suppress?
Sober duty of good sense
or bitter drive to dispense with the divine?
Standing on nowhere to indignantly draw the line?
Even the iconoclast may indeed
have his proper place,
not as the blinkered tyrant
but sense's faithful servant.
But distort not the image
to obscure the sight of God's human face
if that leads from the graceful Lamb
to the gripping embrace of the serpent.
perhaps going back to where it came.
No sight or sound of purpose.
No true meaning to any name.
Emptiness of insignificance in the cosmic scale,
heart of the night renting
at discount rates aplenty.
Pick your secret room for the slowly dying,
to conceal hope's last fading wail.
But it's not time yet for lying
in the unconsolable shaking,
when there's a grand new opening,
a park of precious amusement
for the spiritless and breaking
soulless shadows riding their cart
on rollercoasters of made-up meaning
to satisfy the withering heart,
a mask and its smiling face
slowly torn apart.
In the vast cosmic ocean uninhabited
by deeper ground to praise or blame,
you dare to invite the uninhibited
put a bittersweet end to shame.
These are the stories we choose to share,
amusement by bonfire of darkest hours.
Some entertainment to cope and scare
dealing with that self-wound of ours.
But do take a look if you so dare
at the source of the fire's fragrant soothe.
Having created your own maps to share
you're prone to kindling lies with truth.
You think the stories aim to impress
and compel consent by sense's sober reason.
Yet the arousing aroma of the burning sacred
stupefies temper for tantrums of hatred
fits of intoxication for the willing treason.
Impress or suppress?
Sober duty of good sense
or bitter drive to dispense with the divine?
Standing on nowhere to indignantly draw the line?
Even the iconoclast may indeed
have his proper place,
not as the blinkered tyrant
but sense's faithful servant.
But distort not the image
to obscure the sight of God's human face
if that leads from the graceful Lamb
to the gripping embrace of the serpent.
-
1
- Show all
