DeadReligion
04-26-2006, 08:17 PM
This is an older one. I added two verses though, and I wondered if it took too much away from it or not...
Yin Yangs On Sweet Caustic Winds
Benevolence whispers; cold in night. Like winter’s sweet fumigatory wind.
A faint moan, a window tinted in winter breath.
Standing outside a house, inhaling. Watch your breath slowly float away.
And we’ll fall down in the night, catching oxygen.
Philanthropists run, dog-tired against ice winds and burning cold snow.
Unknown to anyone they don’t serve, because of mere consistency.
Unknown because of the small numbers,
Tiny dollars float away in scarce hurricanes.
Malevolence caustically mutters back, what a monotonous duet.
Tied and twisted inconsistency reeks off this page.
Generic contradictions loom in ere of written words.
Xylophones clink a malevolent tune, in a room, sounds inset.
A pallid and godly face, stares down, from safe haven.
Muttering curses from diseased purple lips.
His sordid alleys permit murder and rape.
And look at all the people cheering, look at them cheer.
Twisted in two strands; a melodic double helix.
Split-ends’ chaotic writhing rock, on the edge of a symphonic clink.
Will it be the note on which society ends?
Will it be good or bad, and does it matter?
Yin Yangs On Sweet Caustic Winds
Benevolence whispers; cold in night. Like winter’s sweet fumigatory wind.
A faint moan, a window tinted in winter breath.
Standing outside a house, inhaling. Watch your breath slowly float away.
And we’ll fall down in the night, catching oxygen.
Philanthropists run, dog-tired against ice winds and burning cold snow.
Unknown to anyone they don’t serve, because of mere consistency.
Unknown because of the small numbers,
Tiny dollars float away in scarce hurricanes.
Malevolence caustically mutters back, what a monotonous duet.
Tied and twisted inconsistency reeks off this page.
Generic contradictions loom in ere of written words.
Xylophones clink a malevolent tune, in a room, sounds inset.
A pallid and godly face, stares down, from safe haven.
Muttering curses from diseased purple lips.
His sordid alleys permit murder and rape.
And look at all the people cheering, look at them cheer.
Twisted in two strands; a melodic double helix.
Split-ends’ chaotic writhing rock, on the edge of a symphonic clink.
Will it be the note on which society ends?
Will it be good or bad, and does it matter?