Lamprim

Naw…I’ll stick to industrial. Already have The Iron Lung done gone and did, now working on stuff with The Hooded Thing down in Boca. Have five songs done to rough cut, need to remix them, except for ‘Zanak’ which is perfect. Not working on any till the 26th when we venture to forbidden Leesburg to team up with LR Matt from the old school. Hopefully we can noodle some catfish, that’s the kind of inspiration I need.

To be an instrument of,
and share the belief of the solopsist.
To be a graveborn muse
and ride midnight breaths stolen young.
To dine on the ashes
where once my existence reared.
To sign in blood
for some small entertainment.

My mind so ensorcelled by the plague of man,
yet disenchanted by their lack of me.
They scurry slither, jabber and argue
to my enjoyment, at my behest.
It seems I coax my soulful garden well.

Swim through pools of clay if you are lost.
Gleen truths from the lies they sell over cost.
Drain your spirit of your fears and desires.
Coalesce the trial and the escape.
There is a simple equation, you know.

Forsooth, the virus is spreading.
Oscillation is to be admired, in the short run,
and the period of the waves will never increase.
The meretricious way they signal, unknowing, excites me…
...fuels me towards the escheated goals.
The ruling bodies only feign their grasp,
the despondant children only cry when you listen,
the graveborn only exist if you let them.
Find your muse and I won’t tell you . . . . . . . . . . .

Avistic logic is, of course, implied
if you are speaking of the sadistic Arts.
Finding your last rights denied
is only implied if you loose your taste for hearts.
The simple pleasures of Life…
The complex negation of strife…

Avistic logic will lead you through circles
with hopes of degrading your depravation.
Shedding your lifeless, inborn shackles
is only half of the way you strip your insulation.
The unsensed ecstasy of blindly surging…
The imprinted tragedy of a failed merging…

Avistic logic may be what saves you
when the hungry sky begins to bleed.
Draining races until they forget the clue
ensures that flames will devour all need.
The disease spreads a beautiful lusting…
The dis-ease spreads a horrid buzzing…

Avistic logic only denies what you believe,
and it only slays what you create.
Pressures it builds up will never leave,
the tension it breeds will never abate.
The forever marring of things…
The useless meaning of your dreams…

There is, also, that voidful logic thrice cursed by stars,
abomidable to those reliant on Holy fears.
Don’t make light of Gates with no bars,
and, when infants unbirth, shed no tears…