You have your blood, my lord.

Windows

Look forth , my lord and plot my glory to see
so that my eyes , a window to this sullen symphony
can see its high peaks , jarring notes
Strings of treble-classed hymms
and hear your children upon this pasture
trapped in your little orchestra


Unto the fields , where your flag is victorious!
Blasphemy! Infamy! They shout
The plunder is rich. The rebels are cast out
Your eyes are sad, Father.
Shall I reach for my sword?
Can i call the herald?
Or is it the work of the devil?
Is this not your will?


Could it be the burnings?
Would it be the rape? or the prisoners staved?
All in your name? I would smite them!
Hold your hand you said , but i don't understand father.
What is this gold in rebel's stock you speak of?
This is but man's way , just another voice in their heads , you said.

But a voice all the same!
The same way you too! and I am one!
What should I do father?
Where is my father's praise?
When would man take leave from his own fate?

The halls are silent tonight.

Oh father, why do you sing sadly?

Edit . Sleep.

Emo. One slow step at a time. Sleep.

Mummbling about the tasteless
As glazed , unfocused eyes scan the ceiling
Waiting , like pugatory in half-term sentence
For some fabric to tear in seamless heaven
Catching the frayed strands of holy-driven static
Giving lesser men a chance to toy with idle fantasies
Or greater beings to lose themselves in sweet sweet sleep

Then , like the italics that crown your current plight
They give it special attention, some try to shed some light
Giving the impression that you are very wrong
That somehow , somewhere, you should be kept aside
Where pleading not guilty is the stuff of movies
Where legendary confrontations , reside.

Further adding to the noise in my mental orchestra
Which , by the way dear friends, is missing a beat
This is horrible horrible music! Poison! Putrid!
How did I wander into this alleyway of three minute dreams
Where the pianist tunes his instrument of percussion terror
Allowing viola and violin to compare notes on scratching
And leaving the odd conductor missing
A coffee break he said, But you just had tea?

So what gain , barring monetary , do they seek
To quell my rising tidal wave ? My puddle of water isn't deep
Or meekly pose as one of my other fetish dolls
On this shallow pool of mud that represents my sleep.

Slept for 16 hrs

Look at the title! >.<>.<

Emo. One slow step at a time.

With words that you mumble incoherently
As glazed , unfocused eyes scan the ceiling
For their share of the heavens
And waiting for their moment
To call it their own, ego and duty collide.
So that lesser men can toy with their idle fantasies
Or for greater beings to lose themselves to sweet sweet sleep
Then , like the italics that crown your current plight
They give it special attention, some try to shed some light
Giving the impression that you are very wrong
That somehow , somewhere, you should be kept aside
Where pleading not guilty is commonplace
Where legendary confrontations , reside.
So what gain , barring monetary , do they seek
To quell my rising tidal wave ? My puddle of water isn't deep
Or meekly pose as one of my other fetish dolls
Further adding noise and poison to my orchestra
Which , by the way dear friends, is missing a beat.
On this shallow pool of mud that represents my sleep.