Do you see through the conspiracies of the midnight horizon?
Into the means and ways of tiny mechanical workings?
Behind the foundations of a society built on padded walls and one-way glass?
Do you see truth in what you hold?
'Fire up the engine, sonny.'
Take all the coals you dig and throw them at your life, desperately, keep the fire burning strong.
Shackled by judgement and expectation. Time as 'chains'. Bolted to the spot, grinding to the core. Little holes of precision - practice always made perfect. Repeating little axioms to pass the day. Whispering ghosts talk of mind demons (creatures of the night - little do you understand how they'll haunt your dreams). Reality is waking and walking as a nightmarish revenant. Throw away your dictum, words are no use when voices are locked inside golden lockets. Tumble head first down the stairs, miss them when your gone. Put your claws into the rug and sink down deeper.
Notice how windows don't show the world when it's dark.
All the irony in smoke of burning life plans.
All the irony in certainty of uncertain futures.
In pieces all over the floor, broken and sure to be mended wrong.
"Oh darling, look at this mess you've made."
Will we ever recover?
