Painting on silence with nothing but a thought
seven or nine
matters it not
what it means
it means nothing
and naught.
Beyond and before the momentum of dawn is fresh
foward and falling
ancients that find it funny
to call
as the wicks of the candles
burn the hands of
their ancestors.
Time is a label screaming earthiness and doubt
shame it's gone
upon this age
for death is upon us
ready
ready
strike at the spurs
rather gleefully
for this is nothing but a dream
for this is nothing but a dream
and the carriage will carry
you to paradise
down
to
Paradise
if you only
will believe
if I sought this for a second
I would know
and understand
that
Paradise is down
down
down
down
down
down.
