1. |
Incarnadine
01:50
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Whorelike hound from hell incarnadine, Reeking sweatish ooze from cancered glands. Slithering slowly through the murky slime. Reaching up your broken twisted hands, Be warned, that I aware your sad birth, In ages past destroyed the peace of man, Now see at last your mortal birth in me, And know I have been servant to your plan. Dear God, bring Grace, light out this beast in me, This thing that snakes and crawls and sees no day. To death bring life, destroy the awful glee, Of pagan lusting brute with one bright ray, One small gleam of hope that somehow I May comprehend the message of the sky.
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2. |
Love
02:23
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Love is a song that an idiot sings,
when perched on a high flung cloud,
love is the echo of bygone days
wrapped in youth and laughters shroud.
Love, is an unknown something small,
that is large as the realms of space.
Love is a whimper, a whisper, a prayer,
a joke on the human race.
yet if fills me, it thrills me, it haunts me,
oh how it taunts me.
And when I touch it, it is gone.
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3. |
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Not because my love was great I'm sure, (yet your were right; our summer was a transient thing) Time weary, not as pure, As you who said, "... the bird is on the wing..." I knew the bird had many miles to go.
Who has not risen to a fateful morning, Which followed from a sensuous nights repose, Can never know that many nights have dawnings, Which lay in disarray like scattered clothes.
It's well to say by moonlight, "...time is fleeting...: And yet it goes and goes... and goes and goes.
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4. |
Volunteer
02:01
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"To hell with peace," he cried, and then he went
To wage a brutal, distant, foreign, war.
"I'm tired of home," he lied, and then he spent
A lifetime in defense of man-made law.
Gone, gone are peace and home and prayer,
And gone is wealth, and gone is hope of fame.
At least he too now fades. Awake! Beware.
The wildest heart the world is known to tame.
Awake, beware, my sons, for many more
Will answer to these calls from foreign shores
And wander on 'till they, too late, deplore
Their destines which fate, at last, explores.
"To hell with peace," he said, and then he found
The peace he'd scorned, now welcomed, in the ground.
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5. |
Happenstance
03:32
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That brief meeting of our years I could not measure;
To have known you had some measureless reward. To have felt there in that happenstance of time, Your spirit, beauty, fragile loving touch May have been reward for being; The only reason why sweet time was given, To strangers struggling for release from pain, To wanderers timid and somehow afraid.
We must let others search for cause and meaning And let them measure how, why and when, And we, we must accept what we were given, A joy that comes too seldom and to few, An incomplete, but surely burning knowledge, Once two strangers met, felt, and knew.
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