exile.
i'm dreaming of exile, to where i could just walk away, but silently everything turned into dirt, and buried the bodies the children of yesterday, all of their laughter has turned into hurt. and the man who stood grinding the organized meat machine said that it must be cleaned out at least once a week, so down on my knees, yes sir, thank you, please. i'll degrease and re-grease the gears with my tears...somewhere afghanistan somewhere centurions somewhere a sandstorm will blow in your eyes while octogenarians make teas with valerian, fortunes are told with no room for surprise. oh, and i don't own anything that doesn't own me, i could sleep through today and still live centuries, but why? loving and laughing and lonely librarians hide dreams in places that no one will find, too poor to spare coins for wishes of a child, but a well without wishes will dry up and die, so search for a panacean in nights of bacchanalian, the world spins on cue, emetics, insides rise and i wish i could see all that the trees have seen and have roots grow as deep as my branches reach high. you can lean on my shoulder we can kiss and tell tales, of the man last left standing and the first ones who fell, you can swim through my veins, you can sail arteries and i could hold my breath waiting but i'd prefer to breath, this time. is there no way i can see you tonight? time's relentless. oh sometimes i wish i was blind to my senses. somewhere inside of me a memory that's been asleep of times when the blackness was brighter than light, but days weights decisions like scalpels incisions slice through reasons that took a life to define, beneath the pales of your skin i see blood beat rhythms as battles are raging 'round this world tonight, but then your eyes look at me, penetrate me too deep, i feel my true size and i'm dwarfed by the sky. what are we waiting for? some kind of miracle? what are we waiting for? we've waited so long what are we waiting for? life's not so lyrical and death's not preceded by sirens or songs, oh no, oh no,oh no... i remember your eyes i can still see your smile intoxicating everyone you walk by, but forgo the pleasantries needs for formalities loves is just a pretty way to put dirt in your eyes, reach deep inside of me your hands are the palliatives that sooth this disease that no cure can find a kiss in the wind such a beautiful thing and the scents and the scenes and of what it reminds, feasting and fasting with hopes everlasting that everything's beautiful, everything's right, reaching and casting i'm saying i'm asking if today never came how'd you spend your last night?