The peace of sleep is the sleep I get, or is it death, I know not yet as I seem to wake in a different state, have I changed, is it the new beginning I long for or is the prescription the same, no longer a fresh young being I keep checking my spark to be, today is to be quick but I am trying to work out why and who is the driver it is about time I got off this bus I think I will sleep again maybe longer this time.
Tag: Freemason
A Clean Sheet Before You Go
Accountable for your extremes now you’re in a sweat the last week, write it down, how many times did you run away.
Write your sins down the clock is ticking you cannot ask your parents for they are but dead and the rest of us are dying, you want a clean sheet before you go, I am panicking god has given me the final cathartic challenge to clear my sins, to save the soul.
There are now four days to go and the clock is ticking, tick tock, my head on the block Jesus Christ avoid hell, what did I say the inquistion arrived in the last days .
John & Pancreatic Pete Ride Again Que The Music…
Brazier under the canal bridge flaming holes fiercely flaming pluto John and pancreatic Pete sit as meditating beings of a kind… road kill rabbit rolling on an abstract metal rod flame head billowing from a redundant oil barrel, bright the shadowy duo poking the urgent flames with intent, they are hungry beyond any food banks.
The charmed simplistic brotherhood of the fire keeps a talking culture alive in the reality of poverty, permeation so disengaged from an expanding world of White Diamond and Eight Ace lager, taking over there one known world that is burning itself out, as they gaze at the final flames under a canal towpath bridge with the sound of faint but audible friendship . Pissheads, happy pissheads, causing no harm to mobody, rule Britainia.
Are You Happy Dear God.
The tide of immorality washing scum on the beach filthy brown detritus of filth agitated by power surge, tides washed, agitated, graded. The worst left upon the sand and back out with the tides too much sin no conscience the sea carries, taking life with no mercy are you happy dear god.
Not A Freemason.
You can’t trust the alright geezers, there is two lights above the door with some sort of compass beneath, hard edges of correction on show, hand hard to shake, whilst looking at the thumbs,your world is an order.
Through them a life in chains by their kind suspicion is the key to that door, though they walk among many riddles of people, but i would rather reside with god I didn’t wish to be above another, lest he gives me cause for concern. For i am not a Freemason. Mason Cult