Beneath the grandfather eyes of the sun,
And the bearded chin of the clouds,
There is a world.
A world of geometric shapes and
Shelved dreams.
Everyday is an observation of the obscene,
Every night swollen with sins.
Upon that rock of the world,
Words dance on forked tongues,
And kisses drip from painted lips.
The news screams disaster,
An oil slick of chaos,
A corpse filled with malice,
A knife stab of sorrow.
Beneath the paper mache moon,
And the painted stripe of sky,
There is a world.
And the bearded chin of the clouds,
There is a world.
A world of geometric shapes and
Shelved dreams.
Everyday is an observation of the obscene,
Every night swollen with sins.
Upon that rock of the world,
Words dance on forked tongues,
And kisses drip from painted lips.
The news screams disaster,
An oil slick of chaos,
A corpse filled with malice,
A knife stab of sorrow.
Beneath the paper mache moon,
And the painted stripe of sky,
There is a world.
(Let me know what you think!)
(Also - Photo Link!)
(Also - Photo Link!)
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