Montezuma (The Kite part 1)

By
Montezuma, he keeps giving them gold
Hoping they’ll take it
Hoping they’ll leave

But the greed,
It’s there passion
The want for more is what drives them

Not more, but the want
For more to possess
For more to empower

Just the hope of more
Destroy them and their spawn
Will creep around the corpse and come

Back to haunt you with words,
For the words of the past
Cannot be unsung once sung

As I am all here
As I am all there
As I am you
As it is you
As it is all here
As it is all there
As it is everywhere
As it is nowhere
As we are everywhere
As we are nowhere

And words become their actions
You can’t stop the words
They linger.

You have to break the cycle
But if you want to
After all you’ll just be breaking

Yours truly, yourself
To break the greed
You break you

Be sure to create Good
So you can battle Evil
Be sure to create Evil
So you can have Evil to battle
And be sure to create your God
So he can create what you want to be

Be sure to create the Kite
So you can fly it

Be sure to tear down the Kite
So you can regret it

Be sure to engage the Kite
So you can get to know it

Be sure to destroy the Kite
So you can understand it

Or at least be rid of the Kite
If you don’t understand it at all

Tired of lamenting these visions of you
Spiking across my mind
Obscuring what I want to obscure
What I need to see

Because what I need to see
I don’t want to see
Ever again
For at least a week

Tired of examining
These visions of him
Whisking through my closed mind
Ringing in my deaf ears
Tapping at my locked door

Piercing me with nothing
Nothing hurts more than anything

With falling diamonds
We will all be returned to dust

I dare you not to accept that
Now that you’ve heard it
I tried, but lost

Count the stars by candlelight
No one can, but we all know
Just how many there are
So no one tries anyhow

Guide the hands over keys
To an error that sounds more true
Than the right key ever would

No one I think is in my tree
Not even me
But how can I see
What may or may not be in my tree?
Who really sees
Who may or may not be in their trees?

No one sees our tree but we
And we don’t ever think to look very closely
Neither she nor he nor me

The only one who likes to look at his tree
Is the one who cut it down a long time ago
For it’s dying their in Strawberry fields
Where all the strawberries are picked
And the tree that may or may not have housed any but we
Is gone like the wind that blew past all the leaves
In our trees.

But what ever happened to the sound we heard?
Where have the flowers gone?
Do the bells still sing the question?
Does the Highwayman still ride?
Does Annabel still sleep?
Does the Sphinx still stand?
Do the times still change?
Do our words still flow?
Does the wind still blow
Through the leaves
Of our trees
On lazy afternoons?
Can we just not hear the answer?
Or is it just not there?

Really, it all comes back to flying Kites
And tearing Kites
And engaging Kites
And destroying Kites
And understanding Kites
And misunderstanding Kites

And mourning the solder
And despising the suit
But accepting the suit
Or ignoring the suit
Because you don’t want to see the suit

A living contract is without a soul
But the living contract is only part of a bigger picture
And the Picture has a soul
Thank god





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