Chrome
And as we master the new tongue which is fully derived from
the whole we could not contain or ever hope to bring to life,
we're asked not to be gone as long as when we were given to the night.
We gather and embrace, and chrome becomes our only light.

And through some frail new identity I know my name.
With the soft touch of a picture show, I'm giving the chrome away.

I am released; softer now and more contained.
Take the last seat pointing east and try to stay awake.
My badge is stretched to touch the ground, and is soiled with every passing day.
I pull a stone from the ground and hang on to it just in case.

And in some pale new complexity I spell your name.
With a soft touch, and the hidden glow of seeing no other way
but through some frail new identity.
I know my name.
With the soft touch of a picture show, I'm giving the chrome away.

And though I've used your name to spell relief for those inclined to giving their chrome away...

...it feels so strange that you'd remember me.
I drew such a timid line which led to being drawn at night
to ensure that we both are blind to giving our chrome away.

I pull a stone from the ground and hang on to it just in case.


Unknown "ROCK GOD" Inspired - 16 years, 9 months ago

The stitched and silken image left behind from all our broken and timed encounters with a stuttering and shaky hand that once belonged to a missing mind is soaking in sweet turpentine in hopes of removing all the grime of pale beliefs and dry red wine.
Such a precious waste of time has never let my sombre, kind and gentle ways saturate like things combined in glasses cracked and tall.
The smoke rolls off my tongue as the words once did, which weighed a ton.
A simple kind of song, where I once hid and still belong.
I think I'm bleeding. All night long.
A thousand times as wide as long, a thousand eyes divide the sun.
In this house of old forgotten guns.
Exaggerated, though often mispronounced, my name unvails a hue of the deepest shade that once fell here, but now is barely poking through.
To close our eyes again tonight would bring us swiftly to skies we paint with the smoke we buy, and the fumes of cheap white glue.
Unknown "ROCK GOD" Inspired - 16 years, 9 months ago

you should have seen the mask that I made out of lies.
the added touch of winter was written and lost; severd and now decayed.
You wouldn't believe the path, constructed of sunrise.
It came to wash the past of widow lust, which then sets into grey.
I began to wash the winter off my skin.
I began to whither and gently fade within.

I'm broken between the hands that offer up so gently
a virtue comprised of sand which came from the spoils I offered to the land.

I wash my hands of you.
Unknown "ROCK GOD" Inspired - 16 years, 9 months ago

There's a hole in my head where my feet touch the ground,
and I wear this regret like the silverest of gowns.
I just keep belonging to sleep's hesitation,
and I can't help but wonder what day it is in relation
to the day that could have been.

The backlash potential is largely subdued,
just as the burning inside me is great.
I've thrown out the clues to make sure I'm confused
as to why, when and where is my place.
A cold hand inside, is see through and grey,
and was the last outside input to keep me awake.
I'll twist until blinded and hope i'm reminded of silence, sweet beauty and grace.

Stand there awake, new lines on your face.
They sell patches for the holes in your sleeves.
Administer mourning, no sleep and a forty to unpart false smiles at the seams.

This day makes you horny, as you instigate warnings of ill-fated porcelain dolls and their queen.
Unknown "ROCK GOD" Inspired - 16 years, 9 months ago

Into Gravel

It's cold. You slide as I belong to old replies,
and currents strong enough to tide me over 'till tomorrow.
I've cast aside when I was wrong,
this contrived and nourished song.
Trust in my only will and borrow the bones to make right the swollen, long and caustic knives thrust into dawn.
The sunrise brings us swiftly into mourning.

Through retracing my steps I can't recall the weakness I've spent
on all the times stretching out behind me.
I can't tell exactly why i'm haunted by what's left, or why
I'd want this all to last until my dying breath.
I'm sitting on salvation's steps, clinging to our crimson death,
lost in this relentless urge to never fall asleep.
By placing stones on your back step,
I've stretched this hole around my head.
I'll read to you a page from a peasant's travels.
and into sockets I have forced this wretched and cold discourse,
made up of things that I've crushed into gravel.
I'm staying as your neighbour's guest,
so I can watch you as you dress
the wounds I struck while you were fast asleep.
I've had to weave the pattern inside my swollen mouth,
as I've had to leave the lanterns behind me as I melt.
I've placed a stone above my head,
and stretched the sound of all my deaths.
I deliver you through peace and pleasnat travels.
I've lost my last and whispered breath as I cling to your tender breast.
Caught off guard, I finally fall asleep.
Unknown "ROCK GOD" Inspired - 16 years, 9 months ago