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FalsehoodFire is the purifier Air is the purifier Water is the soil Soil is the Stain Man needs the Stain Man desires the soil Flesh is the knife Blood the spear Thought the aim Fear the arm that strikes Love it's target Death her warren The Fox shall chase but shall not capture The Worm invades but does not poison The soil is the Stain The Stain is the gift Flesh shall unwrap The mind recieves but the Heart alone gives thanksFalsehood
by ~Johnny-London
Rain on the Time-Sands partIIIthe crocodile is finally full but the orphans are crying the tree they burned falls to ashes in the summer snow one by one they hang the street signs, their only friends the sinners send their dead to visit distant lands to meet exotic people and to burn the clock keeps ticking the bitter tea of power no longer quenches, only drowns a dead horse a blind rider the savior's table is empty and the orphans still cry a tree grows in Brooklyn a weed grows in Queens queens milk their kings while countesses bleedRain on the Time-Sands partIII
by ~Johnny-London
Rain on the Time-Sands part IIa new pig, an old sin still the crocodile eats the liveried servant, the beggar's slave dine at table with the knife king his blade poised, his beard bloodied for all love of love, hate of hates pain brings fear death brings decay and still the rats dine no mention is made of the lost silver cup all that remains of one man's empire pipesmoke fuels the machine the machine fuels the heart and still the rats dine a cold steam rises the sullen fruit of loneliness is served at the table of our last savior and still the rats dineRain on the Time-Sands part II
by ~Johnny-London
Rain on the Time-Sands part Ia dead pig for the crocodile raises hairs in the congress of sinners an old man wails, a new train groans the first steps of its lumber-lined journey the mad prophet dies on a lightpost his protege reads ruin in the entrails of a lost cause ding dong the train rails clank under the force of a thousand misbegotten loves, the dead weight burden of a society lost ding dong a doorbell glistens, moist with the sweat of a guilty conscience ding dong the radio falls, its breath unheard in a shuggle of existence ding dong the old man wails ding dong a deadRain on the Time-Sands part I
by ~Johnny-London
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