Silently weeping at the sight of the coming dawn
All my dreams set aflame, whither and burn away
On the tail of the phoenix, ashen wind and they are gone
Wakefulness creeping in as new delusions start to play
Havoc games on my psyche and on my soul

The New Denial!
(militaryesque drum roll, sound of a gavel being beaten)

Order and reason slipping away
Into the witch light, into the haze
As senselessly I put myself on trial

I the judge, I the jury, I the victim of the fury
Coursing through my veins
Criminal of my own pain
Weaver of my own self deceptions
Treasons and rhyme (x2)
But are these really crimes?

Guilty!
(repeated 12 times, 12 different voices, all accusing and filled with anger and unveiled hatred)

Where oh where have I gone?
What is this that I've become?
Sinner, saint, and heretic
Prophetic by nature, hermetic by design
Into the arms of my own self demise
Eyes drifting and wide open
Staring into cloud encrusted skies

(sounds of a busy street, cars honking occasionally, the voice of a vagrant drifts in)
"Hey buddy, I'm down on my luck. Can you help a brother out?"

Shaken from the daze, fishing for the change
Placing it into his dirt covered hand
Have I been wrong, is this misery all that bad
Placed into perspective, from where you look
From where you stand

Guilty
(a whisper, this time coming from the background)

Pulled back violently into the realm of self conclusion
Fancying myself a master of this illusion
In the end betrayed, played for not a master but a fool

Is there not enough penance for these voices in my head?
(sounds of a crowded room, occasionally a high-pitched, unhealthy sounding laugh erupts over the din)
Is it any wonder I don't sleep?
Is it any wonder I ponder if I am alive or dead?
Trapped in this limbo just before the fall
Trying to make sense of it all
Before the real fear comes racing home
Will I always be so goddam alone?

Disassociation (a hissing whisper)
(pipe organ, chanting in the background, a bell tolls, once
pipe organ becomes darker less melodious, 
chanting changes to a demonic sounding rant)

Sentenced to my inner solitude
Waiting for lost absolution
Shamed by moral turpitude
Waiting for the revolution...

The revolutions of the earth
Creaking and echoing
The revolution of the soul
Screaming and bellowing

Still awake on this street corner
Watching people passing by and not one glance
Oblivious and invisible
Am I really here? Am I really here?

October 3, 2001