Means Without End: A Paroxysm of Praxis

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything. Nietzsche

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Treatise on Nomadology

There was nowhere to sleep,
so I wandered the night
Saw the wreckage of life
to which we have been led
And all of the factories
that had ground to a halt
By the side of the ocean
boiling with blood

We are corpses
in their loving hands
Sleepwalking through a never-neverland
And when we wake
from dreams
there will be nothing left
Are you satisfied in your cage?
Feeling nothing
no love or hate or pain?
Will you settle for nothing?

There are those in our ranks
who would lull us to sleep
As they wrap the whole planet
in a skin of
They are the wolves
in shepherd's clothing
They sent
your sons to the tomb
put a flag on the moon
The stakes are the very
soul of humanity

When she drew back the shroud
from the remains of our age
She fled through the streets gripped by hideous fear
Until she knelt
at the foot of the sky
where it touches the sand
In the twilight
it felt like she was the last one alive
Choking on the ashes
borne in on the wind

When our flesh
fills the air and
softly like snow
And a red cloud rises
behind the earth
It blots out all the stars
and the sufferers below
That's the mere antechamber
of Their paradise
As we
in our death


Post a Comment

<< Home