Thargy

Fiddlesticks, widdershins, moon comes up, the day begins. Stoke the fire, light the cod, drown in dirt, is he your god? The train came in, the gun rode out, the distance shaped, the shapes all run. The sky is falling, the bells are rolling, the car is stalling and the freezer boiling. So the stars fell down and the light went up. The childe was embraced and madness filled the cup. The puppy purred and the kitty yipped, the birdies swam and the fishies flipped. Cause shadows talk and so do we, endlessly swimming in a waterless sea.

Long ago when the world was young, Not yet developed was the silver tongue, We flipped and flew so through and through, Time did pass a shattered glass, The cookie pot right on that spot We saw him say he knew the way So he said we saw him say he sees The path which led to greener trees Within and to a place we walked him with Trusting and gentle, too turbulent The silver tongue was on its way Rushing in to change the day So as we went we saw him say It was indeed the one true way. So off we went and down we go Who were we to say we know? The lad he led so we went e'er on Until the end, a box we sung In that box we found the

Within this head there is a poem, why it's here I do not know. All I know is that it's there, so why do I bother then to care? So in there it sits and froths and boils, writhing in my mortal coils. Within without and back again, it sits there buried in my skin. It can't come out, oh why oh why? If I let it, I just might die. So in it sits crushing my wits and fragmented rhymes come out at odd times. So here I am and there it is, why can I not make sense of this? Within this head there is a poem, why it's here I do not know. The infinite song of cackling glee, see that world makes fun of me? So in it is and out I am, reverse the order

A shield of hate rests in his hand, Spawn it was in a distant land. Misanthropic thoughts drift through its mind, Plotting the demise of the mortal's kind. Within a place of darkest dreams, His mind cranks out these deadly schemes. A blade of darkness rests in his hand, Spawn it was in a distant land. Secret thoughts of a turgid deal, Weave and wriggle making the mind reel. Within a place of zealous rage, Begin count down til the new age. Killer thoughts of an angered shade, Born within the darkest glade. Herein we hide behind sword and shield, One day our schemes will fruition yield. A shield of hate rests in his hand And t

So here we'll sing a song about the High Lord's Men. Now I'll only do it once so don't you ever ask again. Many facets make the High Lord and every facet gets a Mask. To list the Twelve which take those names shall shortly be my task. I give you a passage about the facet called Greed. It is a creature accustomed to a most dread deed. The Epitome of Avarice is how his name is sung. We never did once like the way those few words hung. Loneliness is a thing which many understand. Yet hardly any can compare to this High Lord's Man. The Abandoned Forlorn is what we call the beast. Emotions of others make up his favorite feast. Now Sadn

Where are you at? Inside! Inside of what? That space between spaces. Eh? A space between spaces, that place between places. A special place.  A nospace. A place that isn't anywhere, a place you can only find when there. Between either hemisphere, a place shrouded in darkness and fear. It's a place that's not in my brain and it's only there because I'm insane! So what are you doing? I'm finding that place that isn't there!  Why can't it just be everwhere? Hear it, write it, tap it out.  Look this way and be without. Inside, outside.  Within, without?  Say it!  Write it!  Get in, pray you're out! In that home of mist and lies, in

The dread one has fallen from the sky! And the supplicants in ruins lie! The retainers, they bring no bread! And the Grandest One may just be dead! Yet within the place where shadows writhe There comes a master who is most lithe With a flip and a twist his form doth emerge! Here to drive on our twisted scourge! Those lands of light and foreign places... They beat us back in measured paces. So won't it be great when they must ask why? All of their good works in shambles fly? We'll march this day, pressing e'er on. And with their lives we'll soon abscond... The lithe one's wise, as are his ways... He knows quite well how to limit