you'd think that this labyrinth was
full of gnomes and trolls
as you put fairy-tale faces on stereotypes,
misunderstood words and actions
they all scream commands in your corridors
where every word taken in adds to the dust
where every lie taken in hatches into a viper
and you enjoy its life and share it gladly
using the coolest personas from the silver screen
//i wrote you a letter with a road map of your mind
so you wouldn't get lost
but you did anyway//
the corridors' walls have stone-carved smiles not writings
miles of dungeons with only lava lamps for light
that's your secret closet full of wigs and makeup
for more fabricated enjoyments
and contraception for some thoughts:
can a red dress save the world?
must draw less wolves more bunnies
and: i would really like the world peace
//don't promise peace when you mean war
don't give credit for fever to whom it isn't due
it's not the firefighter that starts the fire//
what is it that you cannot see
in the most hated fun-spoiler: your conscience
that you tried to flush it down the toilet so many times,
vaporize it with gluttony, thin it with lust, crush it with fury,
cheat it, beat it with all the drama you can forge
bury it under constant games and chats
avoiding self in favor of a mob not God
to forget and not to have to admit
to keep the illusion of being in command
then there is that most unnerving, obnoxious,
uncontrollable thing: the unknown
pulling you out of complacent, lazy, mental glue
by the lack of any clue
by the sudden profusion of the impossible
inconceivable but coming to life anyway
how will you keep your illusion of control?
in the middle of tight, long-walk canyons
between dream and reality
(too much trouble going back and forth)
you decide to stay in your dream world and
command and demand that reality conforms
by the power of long-practiced bullshit
bullshit faith and bullshit praise
which cemented your heart so it doesn't know
what's real joy and where it comes from
and there is mount-everest-solid deposit of lies
between your feelings and where you are
and in your maze you rob and you haze
any new bit of truth trying to get in and shed some light
any peep from stubbornly undying conscience
in spite of continuous, meticulous schemes
to confuse forgiveness with pleasing people
to eject your conscience into outer space
but after all, the truth is not subject to your faith
calling right wrong and wrong right
does not have power to command God
or withstand his judgment
not even when you have a faithful mob
backing you up
diligently preparing for yesterday
how did they become your god anyway?
you are sinking in a deluge of envy
slowly unveiling your stupidity gown
unbeknowingly to you forged by your past lovers
bit by bit by each and everyone
somewhere in a secret darkroom
of unknowing your heart
there is a band of angry salesmen
disputing the fate of baby jesus
should he have ever even been born?
who needs that enemy of mammon
and good old fun?
are you happy
when a fake madonna of adornments
adores you from a mirror
and in another mirror you see
an image of a greedy, hateful, unforgiving
but habitually grinning christ?
so are your eyes
adoring and unforgiving
full of gnomes and trolls
as you put fairy-tale faces on stereotypes,
misunderstood words and actions
they all scream commands in your corridors
where every word taken in adds to the dust
where every lie taken in hatches into a viper
and you enjoy its life and share it gladly
using the coolest personas from the silver screen
//i wrote you a letter with a road map of your mind
so you wouldn't get lost
but you did anyway//
the corridors' walls have stone-carved smiles not writings
miles of dungeons with only lava lamps for light
that's your secret closet full of wigs and makeup
for more fabricated enjoyments
and contraception for some thoughts:
can a red dress save the world?
must draw less wolves more bunnies
and: i would really like the world peace
//don't promise peace when you mean war
don't give credit for fever to whom it isn't due
it's not the firefighter that starts the fire//
what is it that you cannot see
in the most hated fun-spoiler: your conscience
that you tried to flush it down the toilet so many times,
vaporize it with gluttony, thin it with lust, crush it with fury,
cheat it, beat it with all the drama you can forge
bury it under constant games and chats
avoiding self in favor of a mob not God
to forget and not to have to admit
to keep the illusion of being in command
then there is that most unnerving, obnoxious,
uncontrollable thing: the unknown
pulling you out of complacent, lazy, mental glue
by the lack of any clue
by the sudden profusion of the impossible
inconceivable but coming to life anyway
how will you keep your illusion of control?
in the middle of tight, long-walk canyons
between dream and reality
(too much trouble going back and forth)
you decide to stay in your dream world and
command and demand that reality conforms
by the power of long-practiced bullshit
bullshit faith and bullshit praise
which cemented your heart so it doesn't know
what's real joy and where it comes from
and there is mount-everest-solid deposit of lies
between your feelings and where you are
and in your maze you rob and you haze
any new bit of truth trying to get in and shed some light
any peep from stubbornly undying conscience
in spite of continuous, meticulous schemes
to confuse forgiveness with pleasing people
to eject your conscience into outer space
but after all, the truth is not subject to your faith
calling right wrong and wrong right
does not have power to command God
or withstand his judgment
not even when you have a faithful mob
backing you up
diligently preparing for yesterday
how did they become your god anyway?
you are sinking in a deluge of envy
slowly unveiling your stupidity gown
unbeknowingly to you forged by your past lovers
bit by bit by each and everyone
somewhere in a secret darkroom
of unknowing your heart
there is a band of angry salesmen
disputing the fate of baby jesus
should he have ever even been born?
who needs that enemy of mammon
and good old fun?
are you happy
when a fake madonna of adornments
adores you from a mirror
and in another mirror you see
an image of a greedy, hateful, unforgiving
but habitually grinning christ?
so are your eyes
adoring and unforgiving
