Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Focus Song or The Worst Crime is Faking It.





























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This Modern Age has made dispensable all the things I believe in. Never giving up. The beauty of History. And ruled by Fear the masses swim as one. Into the bottom of their bowls. And there seems no place for someone who wants to stand and Face the difficult truths. Move on, we all say. You'll soon forget. You'll soon forget what you believe in your soul should never be forgotten. Numb thy pain, my fellow Cog, numb and run, and that ain't the One, that false and broken connection which has been so many times proven to simply more static on the line into your heart. And there will be more whiskey and more comfort and more forgetting. But this time. It won't be me. And this time I will sit beneath the stars and I will know, that believing one's own heart, against all This World, is not something to despair of, but simply laying the first stone in a True Path of one's own making.

So, in the meantime, I sing. And I sleep these cold nights gripping naught but Self Belief, and the thoughts of hands and skin and cries all fade behind me as I talk myself to sleep. It seems this heart is good for naught but comfort in the cold. And I hear people say they are worried for me, when in fact, it is I that worry for this sad, brave new world.




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