And life... life would never be the same again.
It will never be the same again.
It will always be what it is.
And this viscousness will remain within.
No more tells and nothing more.
Mere words flying in the wind, beating down trees
And them rolling along the empty roads
leaving behind no marks, no names.
In all heavens glory,
the the empty visages of time,
there will remain just this very mine
Who am I to speak of again?
Where are these tears to roll off again?
Where can there be nothing more?
In all the absurdities drained tonight,
subsumed in some famous dream this night,
all we are, and all you are, my love
are the existential screams calling out
deep from within caves, and hidden cellars.
Do you feel this warmth?
Where the barrels are rolling
into some sort of ground
there are then just these moments
trickling down the sides of cheeks
burning their histories into your skin.
Amidst the fathoms of thorny sides,
thrickets and trumpets beat thy hearts,
very well into the solemn nights
cry out into howls of the wolves
that there is this flesh that abounds,
that is burning in some hot fireground
That it has within its confines some virtues
that it must feel as though it is engrande but now.