archmage-lod

The gentle scratching of my pen, The stark relief of my black ink on white paper, Bathed in a patch of moon light, Not enough, nor will ever be, to save me, From this want, this need to walk, Ten feet through the darkness, In my bed she lays, Out of my loving hold, Slowly slipping into sleep, Dreaming, I hope of today, As well as days to come, Ten feet through the darkness, I lay here on the couch, I stand here by the window, I stair into the nothingness, I wish I could go to see her, Just wish I could see, Ten feet through the darkness, My mind wanders seeing beyond, To days when I can awake, And look upon her, peaceful,

I sit by my window, I sit here and write, Of the oncoming darkness, And the deep cold night, The night sky cries, Cold drops of regret, The sure sign of spring, And a new year to forget, I sit here and write, All dark and alone, I glance at the window, And am chilled to the bone, It is still very early, The time far from late, Yet to stay here a hermit, Is my self given fate.

I think I'll write, Of truth and sorrow, Of that thing called time, I'll do it tomorrow, Doing that thang, I like to do, Putting on paper, These words for you, Of time well spent, Of the minutes that pass, The night and the day, I may string together, Words that are sad, They may make you happy, They may make you mad, But I'll tell you something, What I say is this, My time with the Slackers, I will truly miss.

I stood on the road and my feet started walking, Though the rain came down in sheets, And the voices still echoed in my head, They told me I'm wrong, They told me to stop, I thought of the words and my lips started talking, Though the lightning cracked and flashed, And my voice echoed in my head, I yelled to be quiet, I told them to stop, I fell to the ground and my eyes started shutting, Though my body was cold all over, And I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I lay on the road and my soul started walking.

A lady sat by a stream of light, And was content, For man nor beast, Nor Daemon or fiend, No being real or fancy disturbed her rest. The lady had a dream of night, And all was wrong, For man fought beast, Possessed by spirits, Not a single being was spared to rest. The lady, it would seem, took flight, And all fell away, All men and beasts, And ghosts of rage, Had only been a figment of her rest

We frolicked and played, In the midnight sun, The crying clown, Went and had some fun, Sailing along, On the bottom of the sea, I'm never alone, There is only me, Sinking up, Floating down, The happy, laughing, Crying clown.