Where do we go-when we search through our words,
the sounds of perfect diction,
to cover up the fact-
a rhyme is just a rhyme.
That we as writers-
live in an intolerable fiction,
doomed to feel and know-
that ink, is just a waste of time.
Stroke of pen, tap of key; lost in addition
attached to bespoke stories,
like vultures of memories.
Picking apart a soul in search of our own,
where the few who know what the forgotten have seen,
still lie awake and cry for what could have been.
Where the convalescent stand trapped,
between the Walrus and the Carpenter;
between the king and Lady Macbeth.
Hope robbed through sleight of hand,
or perhaps poisoned by-the milk of human kindness.
A plan is just a plan, flesh is flesh and man is man.
A specific bite of encroaching blindness,
Lucifer fell from divine lands,
losing a paradise-tragically we as a brethren, lost.
supported by 38 fans who also own “Черный Свет II”
PSA: if there was an album you heard a couple years ago and thought it was ok, listen to it again and you might love it.
That's what happened to me with this album. I cannot fathom why it didn't stick with me back then. Same thing happened with Decoherence's Unitarity for that matter. Matten
supported by 35 fans who also own “Черный Свет II”
The dissonant bleakness of the first track is less weird and more hypnotic than on the second track. That's why I like it a little more. But both songs together make for an extraordinary experience and a journey to the arhythmically beating heart of darkness. mourner