Stoned Angel.
Stoned Angel.
Wing of Eyes blinking.
A Tribe of our Body.
We are the children,
The city forgot.
They took our love,
To feel our hate.
Pressure cooking
Unstable molecules.
We all explode.
Your lover's ghost speaks in the dark.
Ear whisper melodies.
"This is the joy.
This is art.
Shape it no matter where you stand.
Create it no matter where you are."
I come from Lands of Frost,
Society Cold.
A near myth forsaken.
Where no one cries for the poor man
In the cardboard box
On the corner.
The end of dignity.
Frozen in the night.
I know--the world must hear these words.
Time is a four letter word.
Be wary of he who counts on it.
And though my city is dying.
I still have feelings.
I still love it.
No matter what.
Stoned Angel.
Stoned Angel.
Wings of Eyes blinking.
Kiss the fool who loves
A world that left him behind.
Soon the Gravestones will say,
The Epitaph will read,
"They did it to themselves.
Land of the free.
Home of the brave.
God Bless America.
May she rest in peace."
When we forget our neighbor,
We forget ourselves.
And then it comes to be.
A tribe of our Body.
A near myth forsaken.
Then forgotten.
-posted by Nobius 12:44 PM 