Monday, August 1, 2016


Men, women, demons selling their souls
On the streets and sidewalks of The Whorl
Cheap, for as much as cheap would go
Dying to hear a yes in the sea of no

Angels with spikes through their wings
Stuck to the ground like helpless flies
As worms eat through their feathered bones
The hawkers selling their blood drown their cries

High on dreams the people sick and tired
Tied to their dull routines, all hope expired
Zombie machines marching to the beats
Of the clocks grafted in their chest holes

This city needs a new plague
To cleanse out the garbage
The human detritus overflowing
Ouroboros feeds on itself, unknowing

Now the angels are grounded
Demons are running free
Hell is here with a grin on its face
And it's looking right at me
Could a city be a time in space?

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