Coppelia's Coffin;

Sunday, November 2, 2008

[In the town where
The black sun doesn't set
Everyone works silently
with an air of deception.
I let my hair down
I'm not saying I want you
Everything is transitory in this changing world
Sleeping or waking, the days are ephemeral.
In the room enclosed
By cold metal walls
I sleep as if dead
Until the morning rises.
 People are dolls tired of dancing
Burning sheep on the altar.
 A teardrop floats through the wind
The flowing clouds and the blue skies beyond
I look up, alone, and take a vow quietly
without anyone noticing
I wander aimlessly in this town.]




3:56 PM