The Door of Hours

We are alone, but not alone.
We live in our self-made boxes of interpersonal alienation.
Our womb made of sentient Earth; giving way to our baser instincts.
O'er green fields and forests of inner decay,

We found the Door of Hours in our own hearts.
When the rust sun implodes, our rallying cry rises:

 Alone, Alone.....We Decided To Be Forever Alone...

Within the mind clouded by reality,
Only the purest fantasy remains:
A path, running the course of the clock,
North to East, South to West.

To the Door of the Wroth God we ascend,
Finding naught but pain 'ere Journey's End.
We choose to suffer in silence,
As silence teaches us the Greater Mysteries.

So our cycle turns, burning against heaven's wrath,
The worm turns, and dies not.

I took a walk in the shadow forest today,
The songs of wind and woe.
Looking to find the half of me thrice removed
Drifting and piling midst the errant snow.

The forest opened up her wings to me,
Her face the light of star and moon.
Her words within the wind of time,
Crushing the body as it healed the soul.

This is not how it used to be,
Nor a static vision of the future.
We have decided to value things above people,
And the chaff do well to keep us on this path.

With endless pleas for sanity amongst madmen,
We drive the vehicle of our own destruction.

We are alone, but never alone.
We live in our self-made wombs of interpersonal alienation.
Our cells constructed of sentient Earth; giving way to our better instincts.
O'er green fields and forests of inner decay,

We found our Door of Hours hidden in our own hearts.
When at last the rust sun implodes, our rallying cry remains:

Alone, Alone.....We Deserve To Be Forever Alone...