Underground_Network
July 16th, 2009, 04:40 PM
Carved out memories
In a hollow piece of wood,
Dissected from a dying tree
In a vastly corrupted forest.
The carvings were made
By the sharpest tool
In humanity's arsenal;
A weapon of mass destruction,
Also known as the mind.
The mind...
It reaches deep beneath the skin,
It shatters heat and reneges it's tumult,
Depleting the solar feel of the air,
And replacing it with a brief zephyr,
Putting hope in a frenzy, and UV rays on hold.
That is as deep as the blade will reach,
The blade that is the mind,
That is how destruction
Is peace, and a heart
Is a shallow grave.
When hot is cold,
And a breeze is a metaphor
For a mental infrastructure
Of vast unimportance,
You know the blade
Has caused internal hemorrhaging.
The blood seeping through
The outer walls of the skull,
Destroying the faith
And the well-being of course,
Of some poor, defenseless human being.
It's as deep as the blade will reach,
It changes the future, the present,
And even the past: In a blood-red ink,
It rewrites the past, carving it deeply
Into a hollow piece of wood...
A hollow piece of wood,
Decaying in it's intensity,
That was dissected from a dying tree
In a vastly corrupted forest.
In a hollow piece of wood,
Dissected from a dying tree
In a vastly corrupted forest.
The carvings were made
By the sharpest tool
In humanity's arsenal;
A weapon of mass destruction,
Also known as the mind.
The mind...
It reaches deep beneath the skin,
It shatters heat and reneges it's tumult,
Depleting the solar feel of the air,
And replacing it with a brief zephyr,
Putting hope in a frenzy, and UV rays on hold.
That is as deep as the blade will reach,
The blade that is the mind,
That is how destruction
Is peace, and a heart
Is a shallow grave.
When hot is cold,
And a breeze is a metaphor
For a mental infrastructure
Of vast unimportance,
You know the blade
Has caused internal hemorrhaging.
The blood seeping through
The outer walls of the skull,
Destroying the faith
And the well-being of course,
Of some poor, defenseless human being.
It's as deep as the blade will reach,
It changes the future, the present,
And even the past: In a blood-red ink,
It rewrites the past, carving it deeply
Into a hollow piece of wood...
A hollow piece of wood,
Decaying in it's intensity,
That was dissected from a dying tree
In a vastly corrupted forest.