1. A Sickening Sight

All that poison I have swallowed
refuses to exit my mind.
All those tears that burn my eyes
stay inside never flowing away.
Pain and longing copulate
giving birth to dreadful things where death is needed,
evolving sickness of life.
Is there a meaning for this growing harm?

All what my mortal eyes see, sickens me...

What are the goals of this war
between dreams and reality?
Ideals of the erased are the most charming ones,
but this world seems to be attracted by greyness.

I have no strenght left to strive
to maintain a name in ears of the sordid ones.
All is well as long as my slumber is not disturbed.
Contempt is mutual.

The day of my birth was a soporific.
Eyes open wide I'm weak and blind.
When common sense sleeps, I come awake
vigilantly waiting for the final outbreak.

Glazed eyes in this head,
anguished fingers down in my throat.
Illusion of health - I fail to vomit.
So much poison I have swallowed.


2. Choose Your Side

Pursuing the flipside's tail
the other one always points down.
Wait for clock wise, and make decision
where the traces pinpoint to, real or not.
Well, give up that perception.
I will simply follow an arrowhead.
Just because I have learnt so,
learnt to rotate the mighty circle.

My favourite oddities in common world
equals to His boredom.
In blacker void, the light that shines alone.
Oh, it's a love affair.

Upwards, downwards, upwards, downwards...
These directions have no meaning
in gyrating so-called "madness",
unlike the shallow girl said.

Does it terrify you, boy?
Yeah, I bet so.
Just the mere sight
of an unfamiliar wasted potion
dripping down her smooth chin.
Perhaps without having any will of her own.
But in the end, none of us really knows what we're doing.

Easily, with a smile, she determines where you stand.
One foot on greed, and the other one on Yang.
Who would touch my poor soul, now that I've got
one foot in grave, and the other one on Yin?

Who would touch my poor soul,
now that I have... chosen my side?


3. Sleeping in Tar

An old man locked away
eyes me bitterly from coming times.
A small boy alone on a playground eyes me fearfully
with so many questions and nowhere to start from.

All I ask, leave me alone
with the only companion, friend and foe,
loving... hating...
understanding... questioning.

Incarcerated to self-torture.
Denial is the only way out.
Punishing existence haunts me everywhere.
A god of pain, pantheism.

I know I am lost,
never waking up from dirt,
longing to conquer time,
longing for that amber shell.

These shackles are of despise
set by who? Not me, not you.
We're all nothing but slaves.
Weakness is a lord strong enough.
It knows I'll never lose control.
This bed of sticky mud
keeps me down.
So I rage in peace.

But even after all these tears and sweat and blood
and poison and shit and piss,
after all the screams at the deaf ears, and the walls listening to every whisper,
after frantic rush, after everlasting paralysis,
after shame weighing more than everything,
I still sink into relief and laughter.
The sweet salvation of sickness, a reason to exist.
O' morbid joy! I have served my purpose!