a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de eight verses - simon joyner

Loading...

midnight nears the clock cl!cks its heels
and the birds go wandering home
to empty nests in cardboard houses
built on vapour smoke and foam
where furniture and flesh court dust and rust
together and alone
like trees falling into the forest no one listens

what happens in the night time
after the sun washes its hands
of everything yellow light prevents
from the dangers of the dance
of darkness uninhibited
do you even want to take that chance
you might end up on a list of missing persons

black crows beckon from their ledges
high above the ground
they shake the quiet they’ve gathered
from their wings and scratch out sounds
which terrify all p-ssers by
the truth is hard to hear once it’s found
then they swoop like angels burned off jacob’s ladder

the holy man announced his plan
to turn wine back to water
he was strung up by the drunken mob
chanting the time for miracles is over
the wrapped his body in newspaper
and burned him in the words he could not alter
saying unto a mirror one should never try to flatter

sunlight rummages the beach
and cleans out hollow sh-lls
the sand flames sufficiently heating
the shadows of lonely sould
walking on the fringes of waves
which pounce and fade farewell
to spoil a hope which springs eternally on the surface

the scientific poet dresses up
his images with the facts
he hangs on chains from certificates
in silver frames behind smoked gl-ss
he writes everything that has yet to occur
has already happened in the past
we elevate wise men by digging ditches

soldiers fill their pales with steam
for bulletsh-ll-like spines
while trees live and die repeatedly in rings
which mark the march of time
it crawls by slowly for those entrenched
and for others it speeds unkind
while soliloquies to skulls become confessions

the box we would have distance hold
a lifetime without blame
is to heavy for the skyway
without faith-chariots and chains
although it bloomed on an ancient tongue
nothing yet from nothing ever came
we bury our answers six feet beneath our questions

- simon joyner

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS

Loading...