© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.
The air conditioner kicks on with it’s gentle hum, the cooling winds of
kingdom come, and the mercy of the electric weather key, can’t amend
the tyranny of electricity, the study of inevitable collision, has given
rise to this cult of indecision, living by the poetry of specifications, the
static bliss in between the stations, and the wind kisses the trees and
they sway to and fro, and an ulcer takes it’s root where a flower should
Of bathtub drains and whirling worlds the menu please, or perhaps
another virgin to feed the mythologies, TVs glow paints surreal
aftershapes, and fortifies the ideals that mankind apes, as the daily
pace gives way to a violent peace, the outlaw’s ghost and the memory
police, and dreams that can’t sleep at night, by morning have no
strength left to fight, and the moon shines sweetly on the rivers flow,
and there’s a headache where really a tree should grow.
Blinds that keep the sunlight out and the electric light in, natures
shameless display and artificial sin, boneless mechanisms memorize
your soul, soft surgery of desire puts the doctor in control, the sinews
of the body politic beast, pour the honey in the horns of the feast, for
the insurance man another heartbreaks claim, made a prison of there
shelter for there fifteen minutes of fame, half mooned and hawk driven
the beautiful nighttime sky, and where the truth should blossom the
soil can only seed a lie.
In the church of some manmade god, what is holy cannot penetrate the
facade, the world of worries rebuilds the world of wonders, but the
foundation shakes every time it thunders, in effigy on the walls of will,
brush strokes sabotage the color of real, photosynthesis and
capitalism, the nature of the beast lost in this schism, it’s a beautiful
world but we look at it thru a window, living what we believe ignoring
what we know.