The indians have taken over. They waltz in great wagons. The cannons are pointed at the apex. The top of the palace has been protected by a crown of thorns and roses. The locals have adorned this gloomy gleeful tower head with gold and platinum seeds, shining away in the distance. Out come the fire crusade. They charge ever so relentless up against our barriers of human flesh. Ouch cry the soldiers who put the silence back in the track. But it seems to be far from over.
The cease fire will be broken. It comes as a vision, one troubled night in the tent.
The boy suddenly awakens, broken by despair and agony. His mother's hopeless lament is ignored by the now courageous general. His fleet stands tall, untouched and prestigious. From up high they observe the battle field, soon to be drenched in pure native blood.
The cavalry charges, cries sound like thunder, rips of blood that cut like blades, the emperor then decides to join the moment. All hell breaks loose. His voice is like metal saw shapes of cold determination. As bodies silently float, the old ones return to their lair. No more drive, no more air. The sounds of sin that dripped into tears in the old valley.
The ritual commences. The shaman clears the pipe from old smoke, cleans the tube from old dose. puts the powder that gives light, burns the head of the spike. The smoke is fluid and cold. Ice bubbles in red blisters of crimsom blood. Shapes are formed from silver rings that haunt the darkened tent. They are here. They haven't left.
They came looking for the theft. The way out. Their freedom. Where can they go?
If only we could stop thinking about it, we could solve it. If you never remember that you are playing the game, then you will finally win it. Until then, join us... The losers!
Oh how I despise them. How I just wanna see them burn. Cave. Give in. Cry for help. In vain. Give them the gun, put one bullet in, and eventually one of them will shoot the other in the head. Hopefully he doesnt shoot himself. I dont mean suicide is not fun. It just doesnt seem to spearkle any truthfully powerful emotion. Only sadness. And dismay. And dismay is not necessarily good.
I look at you. You just came out of her house. You blush and can't hide the obvious truth. You did it. Together. You are mine now.
I run. I catch. I kill.
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