fascinate.
|
to be shade cast by
|
the forms of mortal men.
|
the light cuts around my body,
|
revealing evidence of times
|
before my presence.
|
it fascinates.
|
or am i ghosts?
|
without a revelation
|
walking a moving line.
|
and when the comatose
|
is finite i will remember
|
important details,
|
or will nonsense
|
be my explanation?
|
all out lives are lies,
|
and when it's conscious,
|
we'll be dead.
|
|
-----------------
|
Giving Up The Ghost
|
| On Broken Wings |
