Scared?

[Georges]

Whistle, as you make fun of the horned goat
Pull up the collar of your famous, blue raincoat
You have been to the Moon, you cannot go any higher
While the doubters continue to throw, the faggots on the fire

Catch the symetery of the angled, perfect, geometrical form
Leave your lovelife behind, as you wrestle with the concept of the norm
Shadow your memories, as you take off in the eclipse of the lunar insane
Try and always point the finger, at the easiest opportunity of diverting the blame

Dance your memories, dizzy, in the sexshops and the absolute slease
Whilst your fingers always will wander, in the hope of a touch and a fondled appease
Back to nature and the fertility, of the elemental forms with the pinch of the occult
Spiritually measuring, the performance, from the actual concept of the finalised, result

Tripping, as you manage to pull yourself, up from the chemical soup of the slime
Always keen to climb and visualise, the metaphysical, peak of the conquest of time
Keep your thoughts one dimensional and always following the sheeped, ley of this line
Hoping one day to get very tall and grapse the bottom of the robe, of the real maker or divine.

Georges.