He spoke of suicide.
Or did he? Sometimes
I just imagine words
I walk with secrets, like feathers
In my wake.
Flying in obscure conundrum
evading any hope of being caught.
Is there anything more to be said
When a life has faded to dust?
When the last tear is shed
Is there anything more to be said?
I can see what you have not seen
I have heard them breathing
I have been where the dead have been.
I can see what you cannot see
What followed then were days of silence
Crowd ridden distance, a diseased sphere.
Those that touched me went
Right through me,
The words won't flow.
Stuck like cold porridge in my throat,
Yowling and hissing, as incoherent
As a trapped animal
This is insanity, life's lost its spice
And I'm driving top speed down this highway of ice
My soul it crying
My heart it is dying
Confused through the art
of common deception
She ran through the village
Screaming and shouting
But nobody heard her
And nobody cared.
Peace is there for breaking, like a knife is there for blood.
God and man always debating, that is why he sent the flood.
Love is there for spurning, smashing all those foolish dreams,
And a witch is there for burning, giving rise to haunted screams.