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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Thursday, February 3, 2011

THE LAST LAP




Swarms of revelry-maniacs,
Not dancing anymore;
Effigies of burning dreams,
Taking over;
The often hasty Time,
On the inevitable standstill,
Making way for the drastic meanders filing in;
Victory at hand, failure in the face.

The tune I am playing is off-key,
My rhythm has gone berserk;
Hunting and digging out
Long ago buried bygones,
Rituals that had been
Long laborious lives;
Dressed in the perfect suit for the ball,
I have thrown open
A perfectly chaotic brainless-paintball-party;
Two thoughts to melt the steel mansion
That took twenty ages to erect;
Starry eyes and a battle-battered body,
Bustling with pride,
Only a grab away from the knob
That opens the final door;
Only a sea to cross;
A violent sea that creeps in silently,
A sea marching right behind me;
I saw it all along
And ignored slyly,
A sea I know only too well,
A sea of self-destruction,
A sea that drowns the dismal sound of the death knell;
The sound of the death-knell… 

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