Dedicated to Her Enemy

Through the binomial nature of nomenclature
comes the stain of the past. It's no woner you hate her.

Through the corridors you file, being caught by denial,
and never escaping the clutches of Belial.

The past is still a dream, and no mortal hears you scream,
and the serpents still rise through the dust & the steam.

The future is still unclear, and it's still fraught with fear,
and still not a damned thing left that you can hold dear.

Ellipsis.

The deep set eyes of one who knows,
one who sees, but never shows...
The tunnel vision of one with faith,
but one whose thoughts are full of hate...

The only antidote is what these needles bring,
the joy that can come forth whenever you sing...
But these interludes & faint distractions only come so often,
and in the meantime all I see is closure in a coffin...

Bleeding now, the question stands,
the evidence is on these hands...
Slipping now, the question will fall,
and the casket will still roll down the hall...