Ghosts in this house make no sound
They are only around to watch
Flashing images of my mind
And extract memories from times
I dwell in forsaken chambers
They belabor the process of death
Let’s get it over with, we say,
Let’s kill these emotions during
The bright light of the day –
Instead of waiting for fire-soaked
Nights under harvest moons
And pastures of bitter gloom
Before the altar, we pray
To gods of the forest-night
They hear us in our anguish
Remove us from televised carnage
And mass murder of dreams
In America, nothing is as it seems
We trek to the forest at nightfall
By light of neon and longing
It smells of fire-smoke and dust
Where does the eternal lie?
Some things can’t be seen with the eyes,
Like infinite doom-loops in my mind
And the everlasting disguise of
Angels and demons
The deity is malicious; he crushes me
Between endless surging waves
On undying shores of violence;
Where does the eternal lie?
What is this enchanted place?
You look as though you’re my killer
But no, you’re the savior of those
Lost to tendrils of dark philosophy
When I saw imprints of the Psalms
Tattooed on your grizzled face,
I knew straight away you’d save
Me from this god-forsaken place
I wake in a cold sweat
Another fever dream, it seems
Before the dawn of innocence
And the theft of the ancient city –
As above, so below, that’s how
The stories of old always go
I dreamt of my father, his weary
Face, as he robbed the temple
And flipped over tables
Of the money-changers,
Like a backwards Jesus,
Taking gold coins and shoving them
In tattered pockets of lore
On the first day, the eternal snow of stars
We felt as though we were behind bars,
But it was only the prison of my mind –
How it likes infinite repetition of
Self-irritation, leading me to hills
Of Mars to tear my body apart
We start here, again,
An interstellar journey commenced,
To escape beatings of saints
Religious zealots who rule
Island nations of woe
The blown flowers fell and filled my lap
And the sensation was so strange,
Like being sucked into a dream
That was not my own, but the
trances of hermits in open
Fields filled with many suns
I am my father’s son, I know,
Because I refuse to believe what
mass media tells me,
Advertisements soak my skull
Like bloody sponges, secreting
Trivial information and data
Collected by régime clerks
I want to be endless
But there’s no time left for us:
Doomsday Clocks near midnight
In moonlit nights of loathing
Dystopian futures show me ways
We all go astray, if we don’t
Stick to narrow paths and submit
To the will of God’s frenzied crying
And there is another thing he has in mind
I hope you don’t mind, but he’s planning
His self-destruction – selling tickets
For 99 cents to watch on TV
Can you see me? I burst into flames
Swallowed by inferno of passions
My lust for death is too much
And it’ll catch up to me
Like them, I have sought to comfort
But discovered there’s no comfort
Found when hanging on
Edges and screaming into voids
I am devoid of blessings; I wish
I listened to the prayers
Of my grandmother, when she
Gripped her rosary and asked Jesus
To keep me safe on lawless nights
