I am awoke by change
No longer mind frame
A Chancellor of fate
Calling to his wild.
Gods are word-spells
Agreeing to be depth,
For this shall – and will not –
Be a poster boy for stagnate.
Lessons are ritual,
Observation a practice,
Mind-spend: currency,
And Gaia a dotted map
For discovering a new way,
No longer to submit
Anchoring of truths
In unconscious fits
Of anxiety and loss,
Amidst coldness
With sugar dust
Toxic sold bliss.
Take my survivor and hold it to the moon
Red in my hands and seeing double again
Mary and her shepherd man
Holding hands on the shore’s soft edge
The Chancellor and his Frankiphone
Perfect for you to see reflections again
Lost in to depths of softness
Splashing in moonlight
And my hands keep turning red
As I pull you into the moon
All I ever have and all I ever need
And this is everything I can give
Smoke veins to clear my edge
So will you follow me as my survivor
Though paths the moon discovers?