because his magic brings silence to reason
I am paralyzed with question mark tattoos
a thirst for answers and patience
But I have no patience to be patient
I am only a clenched fist now
a winding cable, their grinding teeth
The masses hiss like the clustered eye
the thousand locust cloud
Something must come
The messiah feels it in his bones
a black confusion sound
a jet clap, a bag, a bottle, a broken staff
So the white wizard, the ashen witch
the spellsingers brood
The miracle worker, hated or feared
is never understood.
More clever than the America one. And it seems to split half way down. The masses are angry, not the miracle worker. Yet your last line says that he is angry? So.....is it oranges or apples man? The masses hiss like locusts...
ReplyDelete-Daryl