Sunday, March 25, 2007

Death of the Man

Revelations of what you see, and those of what I see too,

Infernal revelations from our primordial past;

Do shock us, but also soothe.

He speaks of honour and glory, bloody hypocrite!

Just as dreamily as he evoke the passions,

He uses the blood to stain the stream

Then in vain, with a peacock's feather he tries to paint;

The absurd in static, the surreal in facts.

I wonder, just as you would do,

What ticks his psyche's clock?

That heaving bosom, like the bellows of a blacksmith,

Germs a terror, or perhaps a fraility of some kind?

Back to wondering though, it does not stop,

But no answer I find, and neither would you;

Right, but who is he? And what is it in him...

...which makes him root in these fallacies?

Nobody knows, nor them, not you and neither do I;

But we remain stunned and petrified in horror,

When we beheld those hellish acts...oh devil be cursed!!

Questions...of life and death, of reality and dream...still horrify.

To my surprise, still, I remember I tried
With you, you confront these dumb lies;

What we got though? Just a little more pain,

And an evening supper with the devil's clan!

How could a man, oh God how could he?!

Wreak such havoc in the nature's womb?

How could he...I beg to know, be unaffected... his own diabolic acts? Is his conscience frozen??

If enslaving the niggers and coloured beasts were philanthropy,

Then I would rather eat a venomous feast and die;

If hubris were to be a virtue and lust the land's law,

A hungry lion in my face, to me would suffice!

Remember...they would wring the necks of men and animals alike,

And then in silver goblets, their blood-meals would proceed;

Followed by the succulent le bifteck de chair avec le sang,

Oh nevermind...they'd say, les autres if they care!

Look there, you see those clergymen? Ha! They say..., preach morelike; "the gospel of love" (and what do they do?)

Like how a bunch of pigs would happily bathe, in the grime of fresh hypocricy!!

Poor pigs, why blame them? Who are we to judge afterall?

You see, my heart aches and the soul goes numb,

As I continue to write this song;

Did I say song? Oh melodies be damned!!

I mean...this is but a tragedy of man...

The benign skies from above would laugh,

And the earth too would shy away;

The oceans, with the rivers would wash their face,

And trees would hide their's in disdain!

I see a change coming this way,

Perhaps quite tumultuous and grave;

Transformation to redeem this race of its sins,

As it walks silently, down the Hellespont.

Meanwhile, like a dumbstruck fool I wonder still,

Trying to figure out what I wish to know;

What makes the heart of a man? Is it the good or is it the bad?

Shades of both perhaps, for no poles exist in there.

Listen you hear the sound? The choir plays a dirge,

And hermits clad in jet black robes too queue;

To mourn, or may be to celebrate the death of man...

...who lost the battle, before even knowing why!

"Blâmer le sort" you might say,

For what was his fault in this case?

I just grin and laugh inside, a few more join me too... know, like how swans mock a crow?...just like that...

Bang! A rapturous rumble of the roaring skies,

Mark his end afteral...that brutal savage, forever damned!

A lightning strikes, followed by the rain, and it cleans...

...the earth from the plaques of man's deeds, ever so evil.