Sleep my son 'mongst past lives of night that press for recording
that others you think selfishly do not have to face
the pulse throb of restless maggots in the delicate tissue of a brainscape
sleep man 'mongst reckless demons lidless chewing on you
does anyone besides believe this shit?
believe, what strange words we mime with mouths warped and foolishly transmitting to wavering feelers
sleep youngin' 'mongst tangents of unbecoming
leave you drained
when lidless eyes shove wearily sleep onto thee
all you want to do is rest perpetual child
cus oooh chile',
things are gonna get easier,
things are gonna get easier...
goes this song,
but will they?
and who decides these things
'mongst the bats hanging gotham turreted clinging clawed to yr skull,
these half finished thoughts in desert of has-been-experience offer little promise
the premise is this, you are awake but not there,
asleep but no dream permeates yr skull,
ooh child, this is where you seem to be banished?
fiendishly scratching flailing limbs of yrs.
who will catch yr drift?
walled up inside yrself with no easy explanation.
an old zen riddle goes like this:
man walks into a cave
slits his veins
and butterflies emerge.
is he free?
oooh child, sleep child, just once more, if only to see what happens.