Untitled (Producer's Cut) (Version 1.5)

Last line changed.



On the deserted pedestal
Lights go on and out. And all around
A thousand hands
Scream victory signs.
Heads nod so hard with more than understanding,
And then the symbol traced upon the heavens—
The followers of your creed. There’s no reason
To question the beliefs.
True are the word, the sighs, the spark of triumph,
The wings that grow from backs—
The wings of lovers.
Yours is the realm and yours is now the land.

Behind the shadows live
The sweet golden apostles,
The saviors of the cult,
The only ones who’re blessed. So beautiful, so young
These oh wild dreams of Eryx,
The purity in their soul
Has made them yours. Blindfolded by the light
They speak the sacred,
True cherubs of fidelity, the guardians of the sound,
All dressed up for you in the devil’s finest,
Have traded their spirits for delight,
For this moment, pray tonight alone.

Here lies the golden god
Just for the ones who listen. And back home on hell
Sly smiles call you fake.
But yours is now the key
Of all worldly dominions,
The power of a Genesis, a new land,
The power of this peace and this redemption,
All for you, you skinny dirty angel.
The freedom for the cursed, Albion in silver,
The promise of a man other than you
To stand up high and give away a sign for battle
In darkness bathed in diamonds until sunrise.

The Most Poetic Girl in the World

Work for you to judge. Please do, for this poem has met critics that either love it or don't seem to convinced, so I really don't know what I should do. Of course, it was written just for fun, as you will see.



One day I was out on the street I met this unique girl,
Believe me that she was the most poetic girl in the world.
She had long and full grown golden strands of wheat for hair,
Two flashing diamond stars tucked where eyes should have their lair.
Her poor pink cheeks were roses, she might just need to water them,
Maybe with her lips; they were wine and could not stand.
Her teeth were pearls; that they rolled off made her worry.
She could not speak, because her tongue was a big ripe strawberry.
Her skin was a soft mixture of cotton, silk, and lace;
She had to be pulling it or it fell about the place.
I didn't think her beautiful; I only thought her funny,
I sold her to a freak show and I made a lot of money.