There’s too much green to feel blue
The same old sin gets tedious, so just do another one.
This is as sober as the wind gets,
And as desperate as to suck on alkaline batteries.
Bored as a solo show can get seems to be on the schedule.
But the trailer’s going to be either a crazy viral,
Or as a street-walker passing by the bacon.
Whatever pressures up,
And whoever inside calls in sick.
This is a crucial lap,
It’ll feel like sprinting but jumping the gun hasn’t always been the best idea.
Lunar cycles are back on progress.
And the unbalanced scales are in my favour.
It’s in there.
Sorry Aleister, no Siamese-kinship for us.
Forget December.
For now, the significant 27s can’t be read.
But all in due time,
Through stars,
And hidden shrines.
Deep, blue and icy waters for the reawakenings.
Oh hallow and hailed ones get to slumber during the night,
Hollowed and holy ones lay in hay while the sun shines(congrats),
But no rest for the wicked,
And no sleep for the cunning.
Never a sober sleep.
With Tired Eyes, Tired Minds, Tired Souls, the day resets and there it is to face.
As the twilight of dawn approaches,
How many of us are in our own beds?
Or someone else is in it.
Does he know the way of the crickets that would convince me to call it a night?
Enjoy it, sometimes you lose a lot more than you bet on.
Regression: 6 months.
Opportunities call out in bedroom voices,
But Greek legends can’t hit what’s not there.
So crawl into the places of safety.
Enter the realms of mania and dementia.
Like two strangers turning into dust.
Hey, father and son are here, now for the holy ghost.
But even so, it all feels the same on the fringes of uncertainty,
Or the pin of discomfort.
- I’ll find my way but until then I’m only spinning. -
