How many prayers have been pattered out in vain,
|
How many deeds have provoked a renaissance of futile smiles,
|
And how many times have we been privileged spectators?
|
|
We'd rather be removed from this conspiracy
|
We's rather close our eyes to the insanity
|
|
Lifting our hopes to withered plains.
|
Dragging our thirst through desert storms
|
Interlocked through limitless empires of camera eyes,
|
Observing distress with stoic composure
|
|
Is this the act of resignation?
|
|
Admist the ruins the actors parade,
|
Reciting phrases of 'Godot' and 'Lear'
|
Yet something's different, the play seems so real
|
How come we notice familiar eyes behind the masks?
|
|
Still we smile
|
While hope and death carry on their dialogue
|
Still we dance
|
The sarabande of nihilism
|
|
Admist the ruins the jesters parade
|
Reciting phrases of 'Godot' and 'Lear'
|
Yet something's different, the play seems so real
|
Cunnung tears hide a Torquemada smile
|
|
We congregate and sit hand in hand
|
around the table of anachronism
|
And we form the allianve with gestures of habit,
|
Carrying on the same old way...
|
|
-----------------
|
Epigram For The Last Straw
|
| Sieges Even |
