Look through the glass
at the tombs of kings
at the tombs of kings
Their grinning faces
these rulers of men.
A Dusty rider mounts his steed
galloping into the night.
Watchful Whore wipes tears from her eyes
and blows a kiss into the wind.
Like a Woman respected with love,
the laughing Fool with his balls in his hands,
come play with me...
She takes him into her bed.
The lady mourns the child,
dead is she, she whispers.
The Archer grabs her,
You have no child.
Looking into the shades of his eyes,
can you not see his grave?
The archer sees...
he pushes the juice into his veins.
Rebellions move onward upon red clay.
Spectre rises.
Flashing swords crushing the living.
Hearts drool with insatiable lust.
Thousand of eyes looking inward.
Smiling virgin,
stroking the length of the stallion.
Kneeling Beneath, taking him inside,
penetrating,
flying into the sun.
Angrily, the kings demand,
who refuses the sword?
Who refuses to die?
Jester laughs...mocking.
Sucks the desert sand.
Down beneath the ruins,
is where he stands.
Laughter inside the room,
old man within the gloom.
Laugh with me?
I have no time.
You will,
and laugh you will.
The memory of the jester's face
stapled on my soul.
Tall trees cling to memory,
eyes within the trunk.
Give back the gold,
enraged the soldier squeezed the life
out of the dead.
Fast into the wind they rode
without looking back.
Riding into the storm.
My offering to the gods
was taken away.
In the shadow of the moon, she stood,
before the demon with lips of steel.
Enter me he said.
The archer looked my way.
With nothing to lose
he walked to hell.
The graves of multitudes
floated in the sky.
At the mountain, they entered the volcano
consumed by the fire.
Old woman with foul breath and
lice in her hair, gave me her mouth.
Took my tongue and my body,
to prove I'm a man.
Ancient wise man,
standing before me.
Through my defenses he smiled,
breaking, I cried and
bled through the holes in my heart.
I found the whore who
saw the archer who
remembered the fool loathing
the jester.
The devil I knew was easy to see.
The god I saw was the dusty rider
looking through the glass.
Emmanuelle Patrick ©
Emmanuelle Patrick ©
