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The earth, it turns, slowly yet solemnly towards the light
But only one face at a time is lit, and the other can only be seen in shadow.
Whilst you and I sit in the bright, who knows what could be happening
On the other side. Though we believe this is it, our minds stay narrow
And we think and we play and we laugh, as the wide eyes of
The sun and sky watch and mock the little wit which we can show
And greater forces like unwanted moons, follow us where we cannot go.

The glass, half full of emptiness is shaken by the wind
Which drifts through the gaps of doors never closed
Of things never seen, of things which never should have been,
But yet still we think through the pages, of what we have sinned.
Ever since there was a choice, to drink or not from the chalice of red,
We took to the heavens our screams, and hoped one would hear what we said
Alas, may I even have the permission to hope for love supposed
Lest empty air fill my throat, and the beginning shall be exposed
Though with no breath I cannot speak, and therefore the ink
Shall be pinned, to the lies and miseries of all the holiness we dread.

The heart, it beats so faithfully, the voice, it sings like spirits free,
But like all things built on dishonesty, they live to cease and long to become silent.
The faith itself in cruel anger, frowns upon the ones who dare to be
Themselves are maybe they have no place in the rotting words written with rage
Scarring the lives of many, like a never ending age
Trapped in a never changing cage
And those who feel alone, they must sit and lament
And those who are forced to think that they are wrong,
They must believe they are spent
And those who stand on the brink
Of falling into a dried black sea
Are with no compassion pushed off the edge.
For you say, if they would have believed
They would have been allowed to become pure
Washed by the waters, yet I'm so unsure
That such an ocean polluted with
The blood of those seen unfit to have cried
Could ever allow anything true, inside.





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