Wolves

Heavenly father, where is your voice?
When I was born I still had a choice
And I chose the path less trod again
It made no difference anyway
Because I let the wolves inside
When I was still a little child

For my time I was too slow
Too quiet in speech and weak of bone
I am much too small to feel
Everything inside this wheel
I have let the wolves inside
The world changed me and I am wild

The sun beats down when I am asleep
And night time is too cold for me
When I feel the blood in my veins
I feel like the pouring rain
Because when I let the wolves inside
My body became the earth and the sky

Heavenly father, which way do I turn
From here, where your directions have burned
A scar into my broken back
And I have come too far to track
The directions I have turned, the miles
Since I let the wolves inside

It’s not in my nature to inflict all this harm
But I can’t seem to hold it with these strong arms
I cannot contain all the things that I think
I have drunk on rage so deep that I’m sick
Once I wanted these wolves inside
Now I won’t sleep until they have died

Real life is a trick of the light
Because the reality is a brutal flight
Against those things that would lead me to pain
I shall not tread that path again
When the night comes and the lights have died
I shall let the wolves inside

I need strength and courage, and somewhere to hide
So I shall let the wolves inside.

Coma #2748

Walking home one night. Any night. This night. I am walking home. The moon is big. Very big. Bigger than I’ve ever seen. It’s half the size of the sky. I can make out every crater, every dip and every peak. The town is dark. Very dark. There isn’t a light in the street. The moon is so big I can see exactly where I’m going. The walls and the pavement are blue in the silver light. They are shiny, it’s been raining tonight and they’re wet. The air tastes of rain. It’s so dark, except for the shining surfaces. Each one moves as I walk past. I turn down a familiar street. Any street. The glints on the walls are all moving with me. A thousand tiny lights, all moving smoothly with me. Each one changing as I change. It’s beautiful, and I feel part of something amazing.

But one is moving differently. No, that’s not right. They’re all moving with me. Wait… it was there again. Two of the glints moving against all the others, parallel and quick. Little glints. A pair of them, Eyes. Eyes? Yes… a pair of eyes in the shadow. Keep walking. There’s no need to worry. Air moving quickly around my body, blood pumping in my veins. Just get home. Try and restore that feeling, the feeling of all the glints moving with me. It’s coming back. They all move. I want to keep going. Just get home. What’s wrong with that? Home is where I’m going. Stop – eyes again, I’m sure of it. They don’t go this time… they’ve stopped with me. Maybe they were like the other glints? I move my head, and they move too. Relief… why so much relief? It was never going to be anything serious. Where did they go? The glints had gone. Keep walking.

Turn a corner and up the street. Not a sound. Deathly quiet. Key out of pocket.. dropped keys… damn… slowly bend down and pick them up, using the opportunity to check around. Nothing. A thousand glinting bricks, a hundred glinting windows. Get inside. Key in door, the funny little twist that makes me feel safe when I leave home – no-one could work this lock even if they had a key - and into the hall. Shut door, and lock it. Safe. Turn on the light – I hadn’t even realised they weren’t on. Then through to the living room. Chuck keys on table. Over to window to shut curtains – STOP.

Outside a thousand eyes shine at me. All the cats have followed me home.

My Hometown

In my hometown
The blood in your veins pumps loud
In the streets where we walked
The strange faces turned upside down
In my hometown

And in my hometown
The words on the walls scream
And your love doesn’t mean anything
Every start you make is false
In my hometown

Good days, my hometown
Is just another uneasy silence
And everyone you meet is new
And afraid as you
In my hometown

Bad days, my hometown
The blood you heard is spilt at dice
By people who never knew you at all
As sad and alone as you now
In my hometown

In my hometown
Never look both ways at roads
Never trust to the sanctified ground
Never think above your place
In my hometown.

Black Eyes

When I'm coming home I'm being watched
A thousand tiny glass lines wind the road
Through a phantom hole in the city night
Black eyes watching me

Follow me, follow me
Then we'll see, then we'll see

When the pale face of the barren moon
Turns to burn the inverted day
I can't feel it in the same way as
Black eyes watching me

Why shouldn't we why should we?
Why don't we why don't we?

When I'm exhausted from the burden
I struggle to accept my birth
I'll curse the sky and curse the earth
Black eyes watching me

Take it in, take it in
They'll begin, they'll dig in

When I'm down to my last stand
And I've finally given all I can
When defeat is all I have
When I know they've driven me mad
I'll turn my head and look up high
Turn my black eyes to the sky
However pale, every time
Black eyes watching me.

River

The evening has come
And where are you to be found?
In an island of trees
Set black against blue plains
Through branches and back through leaves
Into earth and under stone
Through every creeping crack
Under your door and into your home

There is a river here

Dawn drapes pale curtains
Rolled across opening lands
Oh god, what have I have done
I did it through your hands
Through mists and back through bracken
Under piles of leaves and stones
Through the shallow into still waters
Your body lies alone

As if you were never here
There is a river here.

Someone, Somewhere

Some things could not be changed
So we just let it all pass on down the line
The track bends but never strays
We all have to be someone, somewhere

There’s nothing to change now, nothing to do
But nothing can sink the rocks we’ve built on
No waves are high enough, we can outrun
We’ll always have someone, somewhere.

The Water

The water was already at his ankles. By the dim red light form the warning indicator on the dashboard he could see that his shirt was stained. It felt warm. His heart was in his mouth as he stretched his limbs around the twisted metal that was blocking his view. He followed it round, his fingers crawling along his shirt to the spot he… wait… he couldn’t go further. The metal… the metal had hit him. It must’ve been pressed pretty tight against his skin, which is funny, because he hadn’t felt it punch him. And it must’ve been some punch! Look at the state of his car! His fingers slid up and down the edge of the bent metal as he contemplated insurance claims, time off work… water was at his knees… where was he? He was the right way up, he was sure of that. Something had been lying in the road, something he hadn’t seen, obviously. Why hadn’t he seen it?! He was a good driver. His fingers were warm. Odd that he should be warn on a cold night like this. He brought them painfully back round to his face. They looked dark, but then oil and all sorts must be leaking. He wondered when another car would come… water round waist… and phone the police. The police? Why would he need the police?! Ambulance more like… he was convinced he had broken something. Most of his lack of movement would be from shock, obviously, but he would need to be careful. Maybe even the fire department, to cut him out. The metal was certainly holding him tight, and as he struggled he winced air out through his nose in an odd way. He tried to look down again, forcing his chin into his neck as much as he could (it aches, it aches!)… water reaching the metal – it stings! I must be pretty sore! He could hardly tell where the metal ended and he began! It almost looked like it had gone right through his shirt, right into him! Ha ha! He’d have some good bruises to show from that one! His other arm was trapped behind him, and he wriggled the fingers a bit. They had pins and needles, and it wasn’t particularly pleasant. Man, his chest did sting. The water was there, it must be irritating the skin. That must be it. Unless… no. That’s stupid. He wasn’t going that fast. I mean, it could have gone in… but his back stung too, why did his back sting like his front? He tried to lean back, but the chair wasn’t there… he winced again... that wasn’t nice. He looked around, and felt dazed. He was giddy, and there where huge white spots covering his vision. His eyes closed. This wasn’t too good, he thought. He would wait for the ambulance. He would wait here, not moving anymore. It would be better if he just lay still. Water at his neck… so tired, they would come for him. Water at his chin… water at his mouth… water at his nose… his eyes… the top of his head… the headlights lit his way as he sank to the depths, making dim circles in the water before they flickered and dimmed.

Iceberg

In the ocean late at night
A shadow loomed on the edge of sight
We turned and fled and got so far
Before we reached the cold water

And then we sank into a sleep
And sank until we reached the deep
There we dreamed for a thousand years
Our snores unheard and movements cleared

And then we got up and swam to shore
Nothing there meant anymore
And in the middle of town on a pedestal
The iceberg we missed was mocking us still.

Sirens

The organs that are joined in me create a sound. I can hear it as I try to sleep at night. Beyond the simplicity of the heartbeat, I can hear each part of my body performing its function. But not like you might imagine, the crude squelching noises one can hear when they press their head against a lover’s stomach in those quiet moments such people share. I hear a hum. An audible hum. Whilst it is very quiet, I can make it out if I concentrate long enough. And it’s not just a single hum, like a fridge or a microwave or white noise, but different frequencies creating a harmonic sound. Almost like guitar feedback, but so quiet and harmonious… almost like running a damp finger around the rim of a wineglass. Each part of my body has slightly more or slightly less water, but these other-worldly sounds fit together regardless of their actual frequency. They just fit. When I am well, I can feel these notes resonating in every cavity of my body, up my bones and my spine and into the base of my brain. They form a chord, a harmonic sound that soothes me to sleep. I imagine the things making the sounds as small glass orbs, suspended within some dark space within my chest, rotating slowly and making their song gently and peacefully. And when I hear this noise I think it is the sound of my soul deep inside of me, soothing me to sleep.

And when I am low I can’t hear a thing.

Argyria

My fingers are the cross
That I bruise into your back

Memory

All my friends are ghosts to me
In the past they elude detection
Touching my words and all my thoughts
All wrapped in their eyes and all that they said
Now I do not know them
They no more own my affections
Than I my future
But here they come to me
Here we are one again
In the dismal darkening of memory

All my life has been a game
That I have now played beyond its end
Nothing to fear for me beyond
The confines of this benumbing prison
Do not fear my words
And every end of which you hear tell
Listen to a Cuban melody
Commit it to heart like memory

All my thoughts are like actions
They speak more than my words shall ever tell
It’s nothing you could hear
But by my own judgements I shall be tried
The severity of which has lead me here
Out across the fields tonight
Away from the noise and away from the hope
That I used to confine just to memory.

Foreigner

I wake, I sleep, I walk, I eat
Everywhere is grey

I stay awake long nights alone
There’s never time these days

I thought I’d found a secret
Thought I had the key

Now I want to tell you
Exactly how I feel

I am a foreigner
I am a foreigner

These wings won’t fly me away
They won’t bring me home

There are so many things
I wish you could’ve known

But I am a foreigner
I am a foreigner

I’ve come so very far
Still I’m a foreigner.

Am Inside

The blank page is my home
I never want to go back to what you know
When I came here I was made of beams
Now I’m something fragile, something unseen

And now I am inside.

When they drove me from my home
I was far too old to be left alone
When you pulled me out and showed me outside
I didn’t know where to go I just wanted to hide

And now I am inside.

When the sun comes up I’ll turn to glass
I’ll breathe with the air and float down the path
I am under your feet and under your skin
You never knew you’d let me in

And now I am inside.

When the time is gone and the world has turned
When you are dead little boys and girls
I’ll be freed from your blank grey veins
Then I’ll be free to rise again

But now I am inside.

Others

Feathers close and evening light
Sun and moon and stars collide
Another cloud is blown like dust
They never saw the face of us

Heaven sent and freezing cold
Others wait for us below
We can walk a darker road
Easier for heavy loads

Others whispering your name
Up through footsteps into your brain
Last ordained and first to leave
Others keep their grip on me

Arthus

With every leaf that fell from the tree, Arthus felt more and more old. He was weary, and his breath was slow. He ached all over. His tongue was dry and his toes were perpetually cold. His nose itched but scratching hurt. His eyes seemed dry and slow to turn in his head. But he sat at his window every day, from ten in the morning to two in the afternoon, simply watching the leaves as they turned to gold and amber and fell from the solitary tree outside. He would take great pleasure in watching every one descend – slow, graceful, gentle. The leaves were his greatest pleasure in life.

The rest of the year he occupied himself with other things – reading books, writing to relatives, even – from time to time – switching on his television to see another unfaithful adaptation of a great work of literature. But the autumn was different. It was the season he lived for, he often thought, because without the autumn the last ten years of his life would have had little meaning, just a continuing and meandering stream of thoughts and activities without meaning.
But autumn was different. Arthus had an important task in the autumn, and for as long as he could remember (which, admittedly, wasn’t very long these days) he had watched the change and fall of the leaves. He had his chair moved as close to the window as he could whilst still being able to stand up and carry himself slowly to the bathroom and kitchen, just so he could observe the leaves. His relatives thought he was becoming increasingly eccentric, as each year his interest in the leaves took on more and more important to him. He had begun to talk about it a few years ago, and now it was difficult for anyone to have a conversation with him without his bringing up the leaves.

But, you see, they didn’t understand that the leaves actually WERE that important. They were the most important thing in Arthus’ life. They were more important than his health, his visitors, his diet, his exercise – anything he could think of that people proposed as interferences to his October and November. They were vitally important. They were his one purpose.

Because if he didn’t watch the leaves, no-one would. No-one would see them drop and fall. No-one would watch the first flame-wreathed leaf drop to the ground. No-one would note the gradual daily acceleration in numbers, or how certain colours all seemed to fall as one. No-one would witness the heartbreak of a strong wind, demolishing whole avenues of glorious colour from the vista of Arthus’ window. No-one would see the piles of leaves carried away in the rain, floating down the driveway and into the road, out of sight and gone forever.

His was a noble occupation. These thousands of miracles that happened each year, unseen by anyone but him – these were what kept him alive, and with every breath he took from the world, every sigh he contributed, he knew that he was perpetuating his one passion, his one calling. The reason Arthus had been born, almost a century before, was to watch these leaves fall.

Chorus

That’s the way it is
Don’t turn around
Please don’t struggle
I know how you feel

Allow me to reassure you
The cubicle is reset, set in shells

Form orderly lines
You will live here
Dream of TV
Ambition not action

Mass Transit, asleep inside
You were peaceful when you died

We are forgiven
Then we flicker
You shall smile
Then we’re gone

Crows fly, wolves run
You will be overrun

H40an Sta5n

45 45 God please 45 please God 4 When will it happen? When 5 will it happen? 45 I need this. God I 45 need this. Are you listening4? 5Are you even 45 listening to me? 45 45 If you are 45 listening to me, please answer me 45. Please God.. please listen to me4. 5I’m desperate. 45 45 I’ve lost my way. I’ve lost all 45 my hope. My eyes are 45 clouded 4 with 5 tears and I can’t see the 45 light to come home. 45 45 45 45 45 god are you there? God? 45 Please answer me 45 45 please, give me a sign 45 45 45 4 45. what was 45 that? A gap in the pattern 45? A gap.. was that 45 my chance? 45 Why do I 45 waste my time with 45 prayer. These 45 are my last 45 thoughts 45 45 45 45 45 45 45 45 45 45 45 4.

Soul

All the cars are parked up the one way street
The sun beams through the windows building up heat
We're in the shade
In a place with a forgotten name

This is the place I come when I want to sleep
Well when I want to be quiet at least
There is no shame
In a place with a forgotten name

I'm going home
This is my soul

When the clock stopped it was quarter past two
And now there's nothing better for me to do
On the scorched grass
Where I can find some peace at last

Smashed up windows broken frames painted blue
To match the sky that turned a lighter hue
Down in the glass
Where I can find some peace at last

I'm going home
This is my soul

It's no longer a matter of time
It's just that everything that's here is now mine

There are no birds that I can name in the sky
And every time I look at you I know why
You're still the same
It's just that everything else has changed.

Soul Destroyers

The soul destroyers are under your seat
Clinging to your body and pulling you down
And when you land they’ll crawl up
Through your skin, into every pore
They flood their shadow into your eyes
Through your sockets and through to your head
They fill your ears transparent and thin
They’ll hold you down in front of him

The reason that they put him there
Is to monitor the progress you’ve made
And they know you haven’t done enough.

This Time

When the eyes all turn away
When the flowers fold their leaves back in
When the sun is down and I’m still with you
I’ll never know a feeling like that

The switch hasn’t worked on the wall for a week
I can’t find the strength to go to the shop
I just sit undressed all day with the curtains pulled
I’ll never know a feeling like that

The kitchen full off children’s voice
When the walls are thin I can hear them over the TV
You come in from the garden covered in mud

When the games haven’t been put away
I’ll walk out at night and hurt my feet
But it’ll still be something to talk about
I’ll never know a feeling like that

When I’m old and memories are like a prison
And I’m so cold that I die of the pain
And my tears have dried up long before
I’ll never know a feeling like that

When I’m walking down the busy street
Unaware we’re about to meet
And my heart jumps in before I can speak

When I’m walking down the busy street
Every face I see is sweet
And I know yours would be sweeter
When I’m walking down the busy street
Every person that I meet
One more reason to be so bitter.

Epic Dewfall - Follow the link

If you were an artist who went to sleep, had a lucid dream, found a pile of paintings then woke up and painted them all, this would be your website.

www.epicdewfall.ca