Answers don't need answering anymore,
down the virtual spiral go
towards secular realities.
Roots, down the virtual spiral go.
On the surface, faces... eyes... The throne
is for the taking,
but it is not empty. An empty vessel does not exist.
I seek my purpose,
knowing that without it, I cannot exist.
Greet war. A soldier has hung her boots here.
Don't try to escape it. You don't exist.
Kill starvation, crime, corruption, caste.
Stop this annihilation of art.
On board the train from utopia to dystopia,
it circles back at quarter past four.
Crowes were circling the night before, hiding
in the darkness. Where to that spiral goes?
A bright star rises from the dirt,
where greater freedom is fluttering its wings.
Inseparable seasons, yet no season for sin.
The flames know not how to extinguish,
nor the fable of their origins,
nor the pain of being hit with sticks and stones.
Capsules full of language, eaten.
Flying saucers, built.
Occupy, expand, fight wars.
Sustain undecided masses.
They have exhausted religion, industry is dead,
and internet was shutdown today.
Immortal evolution of the human soul
was scheduled for yesterday.
Uneasy is the way of the soul.
It has lingered long and lived in many things.
Ages can go, and the soul will wait its incarnation,
but its war for what is hers will go on forever.
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