The Black Death
Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2008 9:48 am
Past the red mark on the neck of the cracked rope
The pungent and acrid aroma of the modified dope
The measure and the geometric angle of the evil slope
The condemned man, that had lost any chance of hope
Past the circus players in the pantomime of the dross
The resurrection and the bloody articulate death on the cross
The pain of what you had and what you managed to forget and loss
The postage ink mark and what it accidentally, wanted to emboss
Past the gaping and open gully stretched, lump on the wrist
The rigor mortis and the clenching in anger, of the powerful fist
The Love you could no longer ignore, or even happen to resist
The ghosts of the brave departed, that lost their ethereal figures in the mist
Past the Delorean of the future and the blue flashes of the muddled past
The ashes of the hurried cremation, with the skeletal remains of the forced fast
The images of Dante’s inferno, with the fear of the damnation that would forever last
The last muttered prayer of the dying, to the actual breathing of that final and ending gasp
Georges.
The pungent and acrid aroma of the modified dope
The measure and the geometric angle of the evil slope
The condemned man, that had lost any chance of hope
Past the circus players in the pantomime of the dross
The resurrection and the bloody articulate death on the cross
The pain of what you had and what you managed to forget and loss
The postage ink mark and what it accidentally, wanted to emboss
Past the gaping and open gully stretched, lump on the wrist
The rigor mortis and the clenching in anger, of the powerful fist
The Love you could no longer ignore, or even happen to resist
The ghosts of the brave departed, that lost their ethereal figures in the mist
Past the Delorean of the future and the blue flashes of the muddled past
The ashes of the hurried cremation, with the skeletal remains of the forced fast
The images of Dante’s inferno, with the fear of the damnation that would forever last
The last muttered prayer of the dying, to the actual breathing of that final and ending gasp
Georges.
