In an altered state of
Consciousness
A thousand solstices sweep through
I encounter a vision of nature completely slain
The wrath of depraved kings


Nothing but war and plague
Far beyond the stick or stone
Where Iron horses gather up the bones

And pitiful leaders
sit back and watch the children starve

Priority in filth above dignity
Idolizing blood over harmony.
apostasy
Of the waning dawn

Somehow Ghost still walk the earth
Alas, Vain pleasures keep them calm
The glass reflection offers them escape

Pathetic Wretches
Stare into these vacant lakes
Until their eyes dry out
Remaining numb to their own damnation

Do we inherit the touch of death
The killer’s grasp
The war pigs smile
With no potential to heal.

What knowledge has the harvest moon
Bestowed me?
Or is this weeping wound of knowing.
Even the fallen one
Would look away in shame

The old tales say
That there’s redemption somewhere
I have found nothing sacred.




So Seems The visionary’s quest
Has come up short.
or is he…. Right where they all deserve to be?
You’re right - I am ashamed.
They will never let you return.

No… NO...I will not die Here
I gave promise I’d return..
Vowed to my all my burning stars
Would go back..

I will return
Even if the land is lost
It is my home.
I will not die in this bone yard of trees.
I will not die in this bone yard of trees

They won’t even let you come back
You’re dead to them…
They all expected you to fail.
They’d rather you be dead.

I will return.