Depths of Despair
Posted: Tue May 25, 2004 4:36 pm
And the pain and the fears, come from deep within your mind
and the white whale dives deep past crystalized ice and strange mysterys, it does find
primitive urges and memories, before the change from the ape
pineal hormones and the forbidden juices from the forbidden grapes
and the monkeys of the desolate sit with sharpened razors, over there
cutting their blood in fits of rages and downright utter despair
and the devils of possession foam rabidly at the mouth
while the horned one himself, faces the collective audience to due south
and you scream the silent anger, of the echo of the soul
like a fierce raging wild beast, caught in a hunter's trap hole
the adrenalin does flow and your veins are gorged with blood
and the white horse goes kicking, kicking in the subconcious mud
and the tears do flow and flow, like a magical childrens waterfall
and the prostitutes of passion exposed, do give your tongue a lashing
and the whips do sting and alarm and cause the bells to ring
sitting in your corner, in a white safe padded room
with your arms crossed over and tied, to stop you harming, i assume
and you melt, you melt into the corner of the creamy soft cell
mysteries and scheming whilst gazing vainly at your reflection, in the white narcissus well.
Georges
Copyright:George Wright 2004
and the white whale dives deep past crystalized ice and strange mysterys, it does find
primitive urges and memories, before the change from the ape
pineal hormones and the forbidden juices from the forbidden grapes
and the monkeys of the desolate sit with sharpened razors, over there
cutting their blood in fits of rages and downright utter despair
and the devils of possession foam rabidly at the mouth
while the horned one himself, faces the collective audience to due south
and you scream the silent anger, of the echo of the soul
like a fierce raging wild beast, caught in a hunter's trap hole
the adrenalin does flow and your veins are gorged with blood
and the white horse goes kicking, kicking in the subconcious mud
and the tears do flow and flow, like a magical childrens waterfall
and the prostitutes of passion exposed, do give your tongue a lashing
and the whips do sting and alarm and cause the bells to ring
sitting in your corner, in a white safe padded room
with your arms crossed over and tied, to stop you harming, i assume
and you melt, you melt into the corner of the creamy soft cell
mysteries and scheming whilst gazing vainly at your reflection, in the white narcissus well.
Georges
Copyright:George Wright 2004