The curse

There is a sign
That says
He hates you still
So I take the blame
For everything

There is a sign
Above the street
-He never loved you
Not even
When you loved him

There is an omen
In the daylight
That creeps in to you
At night

There is his spirit
That works on another
From far away

Someone who is agreeable
to his heart
a mute assassin
a shadow of death

My brothers divorce

My brother, he was rich
He worked hard
(I suppose)
At a well-paid job
With a respectable wife
That taught him the rules

He rejected the poor
Those who despair
He protected his home
From being tainted

But I think
That deep inside him
His humble roots
Got entangled with hers

They strangled one another
They could not breath
This was the body of their marriage
And their hearts were not in it

With her hands bound

With her hands bound
Above her head
She sways in the wind
Like grass

The night came and took her away
Drops of her blood
Drip from the blades of grass

This is the old story
Of the farmer
Out at night
Blindly scything
In the darkness

Passionate for his harvest
He forgot the scarecrow
Standing there

Wife, he calls out
Wife, where are you?

The arrows that fly

Society is a cold wind
Blowing upon the warm water
You take to your wings and fly
Like an albatross jet
Not an angel of a bird
But like a plastic angel on top of a tree

Society is a cold wind
Blowing upon the warm flank
Of the deer falling from a fatal wound
Its body still hot with blood
The arrows that can fly in the cold wind
Are faster than any living thing

The Three Actors

the three actors_000300

First actor
He took off his mask
His head was a black hole
Instantly everything reacted
Screaming and shouting
Go away, black hole

Second actor
He took off his mask
His head was a nebula
Instantly the girls
Were compelled to dance

Third actor
He took of his head!
His mask was a supernova
His hands fumbled for his gloves
His mouth was the last thing seen!

What has happened to the three actors?
Weren’t they supposed to perform Hamlett?
Instead, the theatre exploded
And the audience ran for their lives

History is in his hands

History is in his hands
Repeating itself
I wonder who his master is?
Who burns rings in his soul?

We have walked across the Andes
A nation of survivors
Now we come to a shoreline
With a tsunami approaching

Like a man who walks
into a plate-glass shop window
He does not even know
the reason for it even being there

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