Listen you wretched dogs, we shall die,
no days of old, with bones to haul, no rules apply,
with taste of rum, no women cry, the distant spring,
wind bled by, to bold in sand I say... goodbye,
choose or cut your neck, to feel the heart,
to not forget, in memory of those who left,
floats by, once we met.

Bridges will burn, flames of war,
heads will turn, in days of old, by words of seer,
once a scribe rammed stake should clear,
in darkest day, through brightest night,
stranger once walked on stage to fright:
"There is a man on top of the hill,
he talked about Father, Rome send him his bill,
on edge of spear, in the morning Sun,
serpent has talked, bitten was one."

Hello my friend, stranger walk by,
borrow a moment, spare me your lie,
through pen of the narrow and mist of an eye,
below absolute zero, someone will die;
sentence to rambler, apple hereby,
flute of the meadow, mandrake will cry,
in front of the riddler second might try,
get out of here mortal,
exit near by-e.

Angry as he strike out his pen,
get out of here demon, get out of this den,
in thousands of years how long has it been,
when scriptures wore sandals,
on meadow you land, many bear seasons,
stakes shall bend, lantern still burning,
your letter is send.

In the shadow, behind the tree,
on the meadow, bend your knee,
down the valley, up the stream, flat bedrock,
hear me scream, bellow the heavens, toward hell,
dark tunnel, wishing well; fellow traveler listen well,
no chance given, could you tell,
on a knife-edge, head or tail?

Walking threw the mist of the night,
on the path that lead deep into the forest, in absence of sound;
from one whom was bought, no body shell be found,
of those who might be lost, homeward bound,
as we raven through this hollow ground.

Cross sentences that are incomplete, fractions that make you weak,
through words that you learned so well, life is a living hell,
don't front and pull back, end of line, number check,
in the story and on track, blank page,
ink intact.

In the attic, above wooden floor,
through the hallway of psychotic, locks upon my door,
near the broken window and glass of the sore,
hiding in the shadows,
bloodstains on the wall.

Number nine,
house at the end of the street,
where lights are low,
where silent never sleep.

A serpent underneath blue sky,
beneath the shade of man, in twinkle of an eye,
above brick wall, in the structure, at the floor,
venom of white dove; contaminated food, undrinkable water,
misguided youth, pregnant daughter,
unfaithful father and hateful son,
mothers do pray while we walk through Babylon;
on teli and in the press, on top shells,
price none the less, in bedroom and at your door...
dawn of a new day seemed to be dark,
after all.

Look upon city once known by name,
ruins that I called home, streets swallowed by flame,
in time alive shell not witness less of what should you understand,
reach on to hand of a stranger, scroll remain;
in signs that might be changing welcome,
different of a man.

When dawn awakes and there is no light,
upon dusk of man darkness will be spread by sight,
in time not different change will arise, life we thought you knew,
death would recognize.

Hearts will bound to King without a Crown,
why do mothers shed tears, echo rooted in the ground,
is there reason of a foolish wars, contracts written in blood,
newborn child died breathless, can't even appreciate the Sun,
don't deserve to live, not worth of the land,
existence will be scattered in ashes,
you will be remembered
by name.