I watched the protagonists stumble across
The field of bright diamonds and hills of white moss.
They came to the chapel, uniting as one
On the shadowy mountain they’d lighted upon.
But all their temptations were listed and learned
When you kissed the light and your lips slowly burned;
When you swore the sky had dissolved, and the rain
Had run down your cape to your silver-handled cane.
Who cracked this world on the edge of his cup?
Who split it asunder and opened it up?
Whose silence is simply a stain of conceit
That carries him constantly, high and elite?
All right, so you stand with your head in the smoke,
Supported like destiny, hungry and broke.
It’s what you expect and it’s what you deserve
From all of your servants and those you’re called to serve.
Remember the tallow you burned in the night
That only attracted a moth to the light?
And the strength from your muscles that ebbed by the hour
That sank in the mud of abuse of their power?
Well, something was left by the stump of the tree
You blasted by lightning; a shadow of me.
The script had been changed; the comedy too —
The scenery was altered; the tragedy was you.
Now colour your picture where the numbers dictate;
Keep an eye to the future that settles your fate.
See you fill in the spaces between every shred
Of remaining ideas on which you have been fed.
But don’t plead for bandage to cover the hint
Of the trace of your life that you smeared on the lint,
For you know as you stand centre-stage in the light
That again you will travel this path tomorrow night.