A Canary's Condition

The arrival of death
and decomposition
one comes from our West
the other exists in every condition
from the heart of a storm
to highest pinnacle's position
to the same earth
goes each expedition



this is the nature of our joy and mirth:
bursting from within the earth
like a geyser we whirl and laugh and shout
spin and spin and spin about
reave the dreadful dogs of doubt
then worm below to clean our scales
down with the rusty coffin nails



Hope springs ever so eternal
but the devils are all over the details
mining, digging, dams and wells
like locusts from the ninth green hell
burning every tree and trail
...the results look very infernal!



The Mortal's Song

this is not the best there is
though nothing more exists
we're born into this cruel sphere
dripping wet from previous bliss
as time and age, decrepitude,
a lifetime spent amidst
other fools no more wise
than a bully's balled up fist




this wave is on the verge of cresting
breaking down into calm seas
the parts inside of us are creaking
rusty, sparking and hissing steam
we restless prowl around our cavern
waiting for the final scream



O endless Moon, how are you
on this cloudy evening black and blue?
We're hungry and beaten, feel like poo
we've hardly eaten since half past two
only three people! That's far too few...
we suppose tonight we'll have leftover stew.