The labyrinth of dice
Posted: May 31st, 2009, 6:37 am
oh don't the curtain look good way up there
on the scaffold that holds up the sky
don't the shine on the patchwork look good
that way a makeshift curtain should
we are all perched here like nail birds
waiting for the last show to show down
on us from above
on us from above, so so below
to shine on with all that yellow magic love
way up there where the god like hero is about to fall
where the abyss calls to us from that lofty row call
like a flapping womb about to open its feathered nest
we kept those secrets close to our chest
yes this is the crest of the wave of our glory
and now the crack between the middle of the stage
is about to pull the ropes and draw back the cover
to the other to another act to the last one that ended
before it ever began, to the great dark churning sun
hidden behind a sea of ripping winds of wrack and froth
the forbidden brew was spilled across the wild heavens
the splash of gypsy blood across the empty canvas wall
when the cheap flimsy curtains finally crawl back their gall
and roll that revolution ball through the hole in the dark
like some unholy light riding in on a whirling dagger cloud
oh the shroud is ripped off the white night of her dancing face
and the lace is frayed where the curve finds its moist cave
the words are not so much spoken then but broken from bell
ringing in the crown of rain drenched dawn the bled upon from
on high the lost and found cry left in the heart torn out the storm
yanked right out of its repose, its lingering languor, its composure
its constellating exposure to the carnelian rose of its slaked silence
held up to the beating elements that bore its throbbing cut wroth soul
there like some fleshy labyrinth of dice flung through the shredded cloth
on the scaffold that holds up the sky
don't the shine on the patchwork look good
that way a makeshift curtain should
we are all perched here like nail birds
waiting for the last show to show down
on us from above
on us from above, so so below
to shine on with all that yellow magic love
way up there where the god like hero is about to fall
where the abyss calls to us from that lofty row call
like a flapping womb about to open its feathered nest
we kept those secrets close to our chest
yes this is the crest of the wave of our glory
and now the crack between the middle of the stage
is about to pull the ropes and draw back the cover
to the other to another act to the last one that ended
before it ever began, to the great dark churning sun
hidden behind a sea of ripping winds of wrack and froth
the forbidden brew was spilled across the wild heavens
the splash of gypsy blood across the empty canvas wall
when the cheap flimsy curtains finally crawl back their gall
and roll that revolution ball through the hole in the dark
like some unholy light riding in on a whirling dagger cloud
oh the shroud is ripped off the white night of her dancing face
and the lace is frayed where the curve finds its moist cave
the words are not so much spoken then but broken from bell
ringing in the crown of rain drenched dawn the bled upon from
on high the lost and found cry left in the heart torn out the storm
yanked right out of its repose, its lingering languor, its composure
its constellating exposure to the carnelian rose of its slaked silence
held up to the beating elements that bore its throbbing cut wroth soul
there like some fleshy labyrinth of dice flung through the shredded cloth
