Anything I’ve thought,
Oh but that woman who held me,
Who cried for me and died for me,
I laughed at her.
And that woman who sang to me,
Whose voice became the birds
And whose feet became the gentle breeze
We all laughed at her.
And then silence tore across the sky,
And the fallen statues held a dream
That the world was not ready to know.
Yes, I saw her. I saw all of her
I saw her for who she was,
And then I laughed while I
Drew chickens on her grave.
Everything I’ve thought,
Isn’t it funny how the moon runs away
From the sun but the sun
Bows to the moon?
Dawn and dusk are but slobbering infants,
Lost and trapped in the middle of
Gods who have no time for their own progeny.
So busy are they who believe in wilting matchsticks
So busy in the name of lords whose power
Has never seen a brisk dusk,
Or a beautiful dawn,
Sometimes I wish I could help them,
Just put my hand out and call for the world to end,
But then I’m too busy laughing while I
Spit on the temples of forgotten gods.
Nothing I’ve thought,
No, but how could you think in reverse?
Talk to me from the end and maybe I’ll
Understand the beginning? Not a chance
Not in ten thousand lifetimes would I care
To know the beginning. We all know the end
Is the same as the beginning. How could
They be different? Delusions of time seen in the most
Ridiculous way, for they think it follows
The same path as the heathen pilgrims
But then who else knew the way to hell?
I’ve been trying to find it my whole life,
But I’d be better off trying to find a tree
In the garden of death. Don’t laugh,
We’ll meet there some cloudy winter’s day.