On Death

[George.Wright]

Take me, take me past the crown of thorns
that dig and serrate into the flesh of the Godhead on wood
that bleed like tears from the divine, as it should
and the blood does flow
as if on the virgin white snow
the whole earth around him was silent
as only silent does know
and he was a sillouette in triplicate on the hill that night
and the other players did die of stagefright
and the spirit desired to leave the humble flesh
to allow us to climb up the thorns to the ladder of mesh
and drink out of the cup of beauty afresh
out of death, the spirit will relive it's beauty surreal
and living the lie will lose it's appeal
the journey once more on it's enlightned way
shrouding the body in secrecy of the knowledge of it's past decay
i am the truth and the light and the way
Georges