stories of the city. stories of the streets.
Τρίτη, Φεβρουαρίου 1
I dreamt of blood upon the shore,
Of eyes that spoke of sin,
The lake was smooth and deep and black
As was her scented skin.
A mask I wore as I approached
I was what I am not
And though the pattern was unclear
Its meaning could be bought
Drawn to Bacchus' abode
I sought there to conspire
But it was in the city of the dead
That I found my heart's desire
I spoke to one who smelled of death
He gave to me his ears
And crosses that were marked were
Made into a veil of tears
The road was blocked, the truth was shunned,
A white flag had been waved.
Reversal cost me all I had,
And everything I'd braved.
And then the night became as day.
I glimpsed nature's reddest claw!
The face of fear looked back at me
As I gazed into the maw.
My last ally laid to waste,
I ran towards the light.
I prayed for one to change my path
To give me strength to fight.
Inside a hidden chamber, where
I had no right to be
I found the wheel at last, or could
It be the wheel found me?
And then the wheel went round and round,
I could not find my way.
'Twelve and three and turn the key!'
I heard the madman say
Deep in the earth I faced a fight
That I could never win,
The blameless and the base destroyed,
And all that could have been.