Restless Giants
Ashenspire
So it's come to this
All virtues a-rusting
Grotesque form reforming
Rain-stained walls adoring
As they swarm along their pipelines
The air's all diesel and Dal Bhat
Murmurs and muttering
This places needs sheep
Like a hospital needs the sick
Perpetual purging
But it keeps things ticking over
Scrambling over so much priveleged rubble
The caustic hangover
Of our shame-ridden yesterdays
The key's in your clock
Burnished firebox, and wound
Strike while the iron is shod
Hour after hour they plod
Oscillations profuse
Into the clamour they sound
All tarred and feathered and set alight
Restless giants, sodden steps
In the dusk and the klaxon resounds
In their charred scattered husks
I built my scaffold
About the crux of matter
Imbruing red in old sand paper
Just scrape off the sin and eat what's left, darling!
Feed the flesh, feed the flame
Drive the swine of Gergasa
Into the bitter waves
Under the frenzied mule
To scavenge; infirm, decrepit beggars
The rivers are swallowing
Their own tongues again
Gagged with the overripe and spoiling
Their years, drawn up from the potential well
With a gurgling like melting wax cylinder
Such triviality! Such inconsequence!
What are the Polybotean to God?
Organic chains without pretence
Carbon murderous, soot-feathered and ripe
A dwelling for the void of vision
Vapid and finger-pointing
More propagation than gestation
A sad finale, played off-key
Cruel vaudeville, for sure