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(from "The Pulling Down Of Strongholds)


It's not the truth, and yet it set me free--
All things are permissable, nothing true...
Freedom is the glass you don't look into.
It's an inkling of the Beast
In the twinkling of a tear-filled eye.
I reach with arms extending...
I no longer reach for the sky.
And I cannot not let be
All that can but cannot not be.
Retrieving all belief from the Deceased...
Stepping down, but not descending--
Even "believe" contains a "lie."

It's not the truth; it's not even a noun.
We're a race against the clock--
Heretic and heretock.
I hear It talk, but It will not speak to me.
And if It speaks, It has a mouth and tongue to lie.
If It speaks, then It has teeth for feeding.
I have to know why I have to know, or be known by
A watch by which to wait and weight me down,
Beneath the Watchmaker's great and watchful frown.
The truth shall set you up; just let it be.
Jesting Minstrel, Menstrual Jester, bleeding...
It's the burning hair of the tick that bled me dry.



About me

  • From Hell, Arrakis, United States
  • "If words could kill a man, I'd bury you."
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