The Keepers

Reinter your ways
Cast out upon the waves
I watched as we
Drifted through the confuscated spaces
Surfeiting all lies
Choking back the grey
And patterns, we raise up battered eyes
Then point our fingers to the sky

My foundation
Was riding on the voices that our fathers shed in time
How could one ask of me
To dig the graves of keepers dripping shades resembling gold

Intrusion, the place where thoughts fall; terminal
I lost my sight, its entirely a fallout
Infusions, displaced on purpose; fallible
I lost my way don't call
Me back, I'm falling way down
Reaping legacies of devastation
Certainty, a fervent revelation

Alan Watts: "Reality escapes all concepts
If you say there is a God, that's a concept
If you say there is no God, that's a concept."

Reinter your ways
Cast out upon the waves
I watched as we
Drifted through the confuscated spaces
Surfeiting all lies
Choking back the grey
And patterns, we raise up battered eyes
Then point our fingers to the sky

My foundation
Was riding on the voices that our fathers shed in time
How could one ask of me
To dig the graves of keepers dripping shades resembling gold

Haunting spaces
You're crawling on your knees, So frantic, searching for the fold
Infiltrate hearts, permeate. We're
Urging for the sabotage of our vulgarity
Our salvation
Is the culminating statute of a day of reckoning
My dissuasion, foul gestation, the patterns we cast, unpalpable
Diverge in the pain, its insensible

Pull the strings
That may orchestrate the waning of an ever-rising dream
We reach for God in a forlorn scene
Yet we carry the emolument of our morality
Still we push, back
This blathering
Seeking answers to the questions
In the need of rendering
As hope spread on tattered wings
There must be something more worth seeking