This Is Not Lucid

The night is raining, full of trees

Of dead and drowning leaves

Like a wilted poem, A decrepit home

Made up with floors of three

And my demon's in the distance

I am scared and so is she

I follow...

The little ones of coldest stares

With their skin ripped off in places

Bleeding thoughts with mouths agape

Eyes filled with marble casings

And I feel their lonesome artist

He is near and he is pacing

His heart is hollow...

I fell into the blackest hole

Lucidity was never know

In the world of half-lit catacombs

Reverberating moonlight drones

A monitor is shining on three faces

Through the crescent glass

I've seen this older place before

And its life will never pass

I move into its half-light

And its hold is holding fast

It's awake...

Tiny, stuffy project place

The stove-light glow adorns

Their faces pass, their skin burnt black

They howl like a storm

And I see them through the screen

It is dirty, it is torn

They scream and curse and cry...

There's an Elm churchyard

I watch myself inside

We're laughing and we're talking

Of how we conduct our lives

The north's brutal daughter seduces

Raising her hips high

I open up my eyes...