Gate of Gold

Self contained hate reaches far into the plain of the unconscious

Curse the sun, howl at the moon

The spectrum of misshaped weird thoughts becoming gradually colorful

Things you never considered up to this point merge with the shadow world

There is only one true believer of the curse

Falling from heights, arms out stretched as the world pulls you down

Plunging fast into the unforeseen black

Who is the quintessential lifer when the heat comes around the corner, facing you?

Follow your heart my dear isolated brute, ignorance is bliss since no one wants a loser

You seek and destroy, only a free man of strength, silence and self containment will rule

With a slow anger building, the one of a kind anger that belongs in the gutter with the morbid

Be that lifer, quest strapped strong on your bones, trust in all your senses and follow the true route

As you devote the little you have left to gain, full control of the diminishing core of destruction

If you want to die, die now and die hard as the primitive man you are, you have been shaped

As you plunge you look back at the bystanders and smile, victorious and free at last

Even though it feels good to be loud, the feeling of being a miserable failure triumphs

Without self sacrifice and the morbid need for punishment of one self there is no need to idle

Random violent acts of scattered thoughts spill out on the ground like mercury, evaporates

A cold wet grave meets your bone and shatters it on impact, hard waves embraces you like a lost son

Home at last yet so far away from where your horizon once set

The backdrop of your life has flaked of all pieces of brilliance, left is the tattered remains

Now as the seagull flies against the western wind a soundtrack is playing on repeat

Tones that lingers, carries an essence of lust and fight deeper into the unknown

Becoming one with the cold, quickly forgotten and erased from memory as the vagabond that came and went

Time waits for none, not for a man that simply run to keep up

As it has been said, the watchtower seeks out any crack in the vision of man, seeks and destroys

It so finally became that the lifer joined hands with the jumper, steady grip and eyes seeking focus

Hold fast, the law of diminishing returns keeps the wheel spinning

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