Move

Tortured villages,
watch them burn.
The body bags line the streets
in my dreams,
turning into nightmares.
Keep it secret,
most of the time.

The drums keep beating.
We grind to the rythmn
out of instinct
and animal desire to survive.
In the winter,
we dine with the angels,
drinking gin out of the bottle,
free of puppet strings,
we recount the endless streams
of conscious collective visions.

We walk circles,
priesthood and circus training,
we are here to entertain
and provoke you to move.

Dark clouds forever plague me.
The darkness thickens,
the sickness takes without delay,
forget it all,
and it just haunts us more.
Skin grows cold and the hunting begins.
I'm drowning in heavy,
sinking low in the harmony,
dancing and coughing up blood.
What is happening to me?

A tornado almost ripped my heart
out of my body.
I miss my dad enough...
can't finish.
What else was there to say?
I suppose that my jaw clenches,
I feel the tears fall indeed
down my cheeks again.
Opened the floods in me, it did.

I will make sure that the puzzle piece
of me you hold in your hand
will disappear as soon as you
pick up another dirty sliver off the pavement.

Forever melting,
I take the fire
back into my mouth,
breathing heavy,
tantric eyes.
Lift me up,
forgive me and move.