Explosions. Furious fires. Civilisations that fall from grace.
The wizards and shamans and priests
all beg on their knees with their faces
turned upwards, not knowing anymore what the windfall may bring.
The death of magic in the ruthless hands of logic.
The death of rock and roll and everything else
that might have once made some noise.
Expulsions. Curious wires. Evil angels that rise from hell.
The demons and goblins and priests
all wither to dust with their shadows
smeared across the consequences of our useless actions.
The death of dreams none can compensate for.
The death of sex, as though flushed away
from the cunt of a whore.
But I will walk away from fire
and I will tame the chasm that is hell.
The worried weeping wounds of my wasted past
is just a fable that once made so much noise.
I will not bleed forever, nor die in vain.
And all the chords I ever played on my guitar
still vibrate, passing through light and dark,
beyond this face, this head, this thought that you had to wait so long for.
I am beyond repair, beyond magic, beyond rock and roll.