Sunday, December 14, 2008

Dawn on my Doorstep

A city was born
of a virgin junkie,
And in him is life
And the life is the light of men.

Streetlights and shivelights and splatters on the pavement
Dictaphones crackle, creation stares down the barrel of a 45.
And the light shineth in the darkness,
And the darkness comprehends it not.
Real people in nice overcoats and expensive socks
Stroll by, content and satiated
Come join the cause!
You can't buy this kind of publicity,
Dysphoria sells! Despoliation is the key!
You see,
(by streetlight, does it count?)
He comes unto his own, but his own receive him not
It counts, my friends, it counts.
For now, though we see by the glare,
Though we make out
Only shadows
And shapes
And that tall striking man whose self-deception is betrayed
By only his aching footsteps
We see him so clearly! I swear. We know who he is! We know who he is!
We have the cure, we have the vision!
Nobody sweat this life we are leading, there's nothing to stop you believing
And being
Exactly what we want you to be
Obedient and servile, come join the cause,
Asinine and senile, come join the cause! It doesn’t matter what you see or what you feel or
how or whether you chose to get to this hell,
It only matters what comes next,
And this city knows, he's seen it before,
Be assured, my friend, the end has it's role to play
Just as the shapes and shadows have their snares to lay.
Just don’t believe, our city won't be saved, he'll burn with Sodom
And he's seen it all before, everything under the sun,
The moon, the streetlights and shadows
Neons and burrows
Hide while you can, life does indeed squint in the wind
As you do,
So never fear you're alone.
The comforter is here, and with hypodermic tram carts what's more
They don't see, by the streetlight, what and all
They claim to see
For they trust their eyes and nothing more,
Flash and glare and shadow and shape
Or love and life and time and space,
Love, and life, and time, and space.
Breathe, now
Let go - close your eyes to the lights - wake
To see above the surface
A surface of completeness and perfection that falls far, far short of any concept of hope
Its vindication that's killing us,
Achievements you can hang on your wall -
Or life above the concrete perfection
Its satisfaction with sameness,
and love with not too much sugar
I'm watching my figure.
So it's choice now, it choice
Choose life! They say!
The city's not so foolish, he tacitly waits
And when finally the rhetoric collapses, when finally the white noise gives way
To reality, clarity,
dawn will be sneaking.
And the gentleman performer, as always; our city
Follows his cue, as the brilliant sun hints
At her nearing arrival
to the vista of hero's and thieves, players and pawns.
Shadows and shapes and neons and burrows and flash and glare;
This is to them a gospel, a vision, a scene of prophetic clarity
But our city,
He knows better.
Impending, impending, expectancy bubbles
And boils in the hearts of man,
Desperately wicked! Who can know! They've shouted
And toted their rulebook and ritual
Always in the streetlight; religion by shadow and by glare
By eye-trap and stare.
In vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrine the commandments of
Shadow gives way, glare dulls to glow
Shape is illumined to be found-out as white on black, not black on white
And flash still drives on, but in the sun?
In the sun.. flash goes unheeded
What they thought they had saw and
They knew they had saw
And they had previously been so sure they had saw;
With their eyes they had trusted and their friends they had followed,
Now is face to face, to face, to face,
Known as they are known, no longer in part or shadow or shape.
All fragments replaced,
Love and life and time
And space.
The city, he knew, he watched all along
They sang, they cheered,
They lamented Jerusalem
In vain, in vain, rulebook and ritual.
He watched all along, their song
He waited.
The first shall be last, now that night has turned day
And the city he sleeps deeply, as should you my dear friend
For though this world's at it's end,
It's just another role to play, and how vain to sing of the future and beyond
When the now is extraordinary, and you're itching to move
They called it the end,
He whispered:
'it's dawn, my friend'
And there is your clarity, there is your
Vision of prophecy -
Not a decree of judgment, or list of souls burnt, but
A virgin diurnal, instead,
New minutes to lose track of and chase to the next
A choice has been made, overnight, in the streetlight
For love, and for life
no shadow or shape.
Watch close though my friend,
It's not quite what you think.

- kmtrezona-lecomte

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