© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.
I can’t understand what the mirror is trying to tell me, am I trying to
learn how to be seen or how to see, I contain my rage until the steam
seeps into my intake valve, then I use this engine grease like it was
some kind of salve, infinite new blood; slow killers parade of transposed
guilt, star teller; false embryo of castles unbuilt.
Not a smile nor a kiss or a bite is what it seems, in this city of more
dreamers than dreams, surviving on the confidence that you’re an
exception to the rule, but that just makes you a somewhat wiser fool,
river wise bridges carry sperm bank donors hypothetical money,
prostrate ecstasy; nazi night desire; vampire sucking honey.
So you try to screw yourself out of the grip of paradise fist, end up on
the true players broken hearts black list, and the moral of the story is
this story never had any morals, if you can wear the teeth marks you
can wear the laurels, scripted blindness beautiful of the colorless unreal,
hands of savage medicine touching how to feel.
In the cold galactic distance of a whisper, the acid taste of hot breath
and need, I lift the veil and I turn her, somehow the doer gets trapped
inside the deed.
Cracked mirror voodoo, wounded by the view, but like a vampire at
dawn, I know I must be moving on.