I live within the arsonists choir, singing praises for raging fire.
We see it burn, we hear its call, we sing the fire’s blazing song.
I live within the arsonists choir and I am next, the chosen pyre.
Hear my song, sing my praise, until I am gone and only ash remains.
I do burn, I do rage, I am fire, the eternal blaze.
Burnt to ash, blackened dust, my praises sang by the arsonist choir.
That congregation of those waiting to embrace conflagration.
Feel the rage, feed the fire, embrace the pain, hold the flame.
Until not remains but ash and praise, in this…
The arsonist’s choir, our funeral pyre.
So The Foo Fighters caused this one, as it was inspired by their song “Something From Nothing” so figured I’d mention that one. Good song that one.
A scratching silence fills my life, repeating repeating an endless loop.
Nothing changes, nothing moves, the needle on the record skips and skips, an endless loop.
Repeating, repeating never moving, nothing new, always used, left behind.
No reason to smile, no reason to be, this endless repeat is all thats left of me.
I think aloud and my thoughts do echo through out the noiseless sound,
the rumbling ramble that is my mind, sitting in shadows alone, paying my due time.
Caged in self imposed exile, chained to solitude as all I know.
I can’t understand how to leave this castle I’ve built when it’s all I have and all I own.
Nor do I have the keys to open the gates to another, to let someone in.
So I’m trapped in this citadel, this castle of mine, with only my thoughts and my echo as a friend to my darkened time.
If only I’d not locked the door behind me, if only I’d not built my walls so high.
Maybe then at least the moon or sun could be my friend, something else to get me by.
But alas it’s not to be, I’ll be trapped in this darkness forever with not even shadows for company.
I’ve found now, with this exile of mine, perhaps it better to risk the dagger and open the door, than dwell and silence without a single smile for warmth.
Standing on the shore of what was, I watch what is drift away. It left me behind standing stranded on a beach with no name.
A place long in the past but never outside of now. Where nothing matters and nothing cares and all the world is gray nothing in the span of a single moment that stretches forward into eternity.
I stand there, waiting, and nothing passes, nothing moves. There is only myself and that grey moment, and the silence of the weight of the ashes that have become my home.
Oddly fitting this airy flitting, this flowing floating flowering I find inside my mind.
Waving, wavering thoughts of fleeting smiles and cheerful chuckles floating on floundering ground a strangely sinking happiness I never thought to be found.
A sense of ease at these oddly fitting flitting fleeting ephemeral thoughts of ease that do indeed please, leave me a smile and a thought that in this moment I am indeed grateful to be.
Happy to exist, a pleasure to see, and while I’m happy, for this floating fleeting moment I’ll say with a smile and a wave “Happy to meet you!” with a nod and a quickly added “Good day!”
It’ll not last, that I’m sad to say. But instead I’ll smile and remember, the sad days that stay too long are the ones that make this fleeting floating an ephemeral dream, something that echoes long after its gone.
My life consists of a melancholy dream. A seeming thing of sighs and sights best disbelieved or simply ignored.
So it stands to be reasoned that I know not who I am or where I go I simply know this melancholy dream. This seeming with sighs and sounds best disbelieved or simply ignored.
So I move forward with nothing to show and nothing to gain, a life unlived. A death all the same.
Hurting, hurting, hunting the scar and seeing the sound as I travels to the ground and Me goes away once more.
We has returned only to go to Their grave and They have yet to be seen again, and Us remains unsure.
I knows not the Me that came nor recognize the We that went once more I lost Myself to Them the only ones I once let in before.
The ones that broke Me and left Us sad, that crippled They and sent the others to Their grave but most of all they shattered I when they broke Me and We have never been the same.
I recognize not the shadows of We or this crazed cursed Me, the ones with scars and pain and its all I see. So all cry and scream and laugh because even shattered, even broken.
I and We and Me and They go to Their grave and sit and carouse and watch as the moon glowers down and the roses blossom tulip flowers, for even mad and even crazed All can speak as one.
“Least We’re not alone.”