Put on my Napoleon Death Mask
Mass grave of personalities I switch between
Could be..
\"A bunch of things in the making\"
Part Three of \"Faust\" trade my soul
For a long lost Hitchcock scene
A distant dream when I had a future etched
Misplaced mania, tier list was inconclusive when I got a perfect score on the Rorschach test
I\'m a \"poor mans Leonard Cohen\"
Generation silence, unknown as it stands
Spray luminol on my mood and fall into a trance, a loop of circumstance
Circumference made of stained glass, watch time lapse, you\'re a grain of sand that passes through the hours of endless silence contained behind your stairwell visions, eyes like innovators that dedicated life to perfecting deadpan
Come with me to the tomb
The body, soul, the bones where history sits collecting unanswered questions like dust
Everything begins as dead skin
Once and for all it will be exhumed
The fragments of fractured skulls, carcass expells a napalm musk
Archaic concepts hault monologues and haunt dialogue
Even with the slightest mention of what we all become
Incendiary speech, thermite verbs that strike against the machine to create heat, eternity turns to energy
Memories ignite like a test demolition to do away with any and all forms of empathy
Sympathy is a niche, a novelty, a figment of a post apocalyptic genre
The surface stained with paint so thick it traps a timeframe
Centuries of mantras meant to prosper
Instead the focus shifts, the mind wanders through lore inhabited by monsters trading faces with those same characters developed to scare away the horror conjured
Ghosts are lined up as pallbearers, one of them recites the eulogy, one performs an elegy, together they build the narrative
The Death Mask Portrait
Sits on The Devil\'s mantle
It\'s your turn to tell the story now
Crack the surface of my face and draw a composite sketch
A series of levels explored through the stairwell in my skin
Put on my Napoleon Death Mask
A complex in my genetics
Interwoven story threads
Connect and adapt to the narrative of the current premise
Do memories happen the way we remember?
Dismember the novelty of hope
The syndrome has no constant set of symptoms
It requires whatever it takes to cope