In the house of detention
In the house of the lie
With memorial flowers
It’s too late to be wise

Where angel Gabriel
Is singing his song
The bridesmaids of yesterday
Have black dresses on

The aisle’s full of roses
The seats, washed with tears
It’s a dumb foundation
a time for great fears

on the road into Eden
Where our loved-ones go
there’s a lake of the demons
In the caves below

Like a rock
inside a balloon
you can’t be lifted up
without dying first

you say
take this burden off of me
but the burden is inside you

like a rock
inside a balloon
you can’t be lifted up
without dying fist

you cannot
remove the rock
without piercing
the balloon

unless you sleep

Don’t cross your heart
Don’t cross your heart, baby
Don’t cross your heart
For me

Do a kind deed
Do me a favour
Don’t cross your heart
While I bleed

Don’t carve a cross
In the wood or the stone
Don’t carve a cross
On the sea

Be a good person
Be a right person
Don’t cross your heart
While I bleed

They’re made in wood
They’re made in stone
They’re made of superstition
And dreams

Make it all right
If you don’t like the sight
Don’t cross your heart
While I bleed

How quickly we can bury
Those we love

Every little death
They give us
Goes quickly into the grave

How hard we are born
How hard we die
How fast we can operate
To bury one alive

There was a little baby
Did not see light of day
How easily it was buried
Six feet under clay

Mistakes become monuments
A hate becomes ongoing
A love explodes in the stratosphere
Without any body knowing

How quickly
We can bury
Those we love

Not afraid of death, the sun
Transforms to another bright light

That sees inside the skulls form
With the same grade of thought

Knowing that, though the house is gone
the home is still the same

not even owning another’s mind
the mind stripped bare is the same can

printed with the same sight
of the deceased one’s burden of intelligence

in this we are all the same
stripped of our flesh we become

part of the knowledge of another
lit by the same nameless light

I died again in my dream
I was crushed and broken, and lost
I fell again and was no more
I died again in my dream

I died again in my dream
Overwhelmed by sorrow
And love was named broken-heartedness
I died again in my dream

I died again in my dream
The spiritual eye was smashed
I woke up to the world
At one with death in the world

That final fresh layer of snow
And all lies forgotten beneath
There are no goodbyes, there is no pain
There’s not even a green wreath
The past is gone, the memories fade away
Life begins again, life begins a new day

Like any room
Where death has occurred
Birds come
To the window pane
Of the soul
To see

Into any room
Where death has occurred
The lie and the truth
This sleep is priced
At half a cent

Like any room
Where death has occurred
That fills up with water
And flies away
Like a child
Thru a window

I was drawing/sketching my living room. and doing research when by accident i came upon a video of the death of American poet Alan Ginsberg. As i was watching i heard a voice say “only sleeping” I suppose from one of the mourners present. so i was moved to add it to the sketch of my room and his most famous line of poetry below.