We were laughing through dust clouds
Through storm clouds, through ashes
Crawling over broken masts, broken pasts
And echoes etched on the walls
In the kingdom of steel, glass and stone
The kingdom of shitty poems
The kingdom of things that think
And things that think of nothing
That think of everything the same
I know where you are
And I know what you are
So I won't shed my light
Not again, no matter how right
In the windows of millennia far gone
The shaman hopelessly prays:
"Let them make it, oh please
The blood on my hands
Is too much for one man"
And so glorious lambent waves
Of transient meaning from primordial gods
(Leaving lightheaded their papyrus prophets)
Scar lines in the asphalt:
"I AM THAT I AM."
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