There’s a channel in the road, of lies and deceit, and it is always there, in our eyes, in our minds. And so we cross the boundary, and so we walk along, For all that we have stolen, for all that we have won.See the world for nothing shaken, and the fires we always cry, and the shining dream of conciousness, sees the skies of witless sails.Fortune shining always encumbered, tales told of none and two, so I wonder always simply, silly styles gone out of tune. Straying into walls asunder, drinking fully from the wine, There is sickness in this hallway, If only there was time.So with folly, and with ire, we wander here and there. The wharfs of ships and lost goth raids, we harrow in the hills. Fortuna isle luna, the song above the skies. Of two and three and never more, seas drift and wash and rise.It’s uneven, and yet sundered, undone and full of woe. Living rakes the coals of rage, and roasts you in the cold. So it is, so there always a time in need of change.We break apart, and draw a start, and drive them all away.

Asleep in the Hallway