A maverick transit,
Had swept away the illusions of my transgressions,
Condescending new found glory,
Shall wait in the monastery created for anticipation...
There comes the illusions of my innocence,
Made to survive amidst all these lecherous men,
Whilst my mind is devoid of life,
Arouses the return of promiscuous luck...
So short lived are these chuckles of forbidden humour,
The gust of glee,
The crescendo of that shenanigan that rests in the hands of fate,
Gift of god and the food of demons...
Behold, for the hunters and gatherers are here,
The nurturers have no reason to rejoice,
As we write music inspired by the clarion of our ancestors,
Because somewhere within you know you're intoxicated due to the void of passion...
Drop by drop,
The repercussions seemed to have arrived,
You have now succumbed to fatal generosity,
Shamed by the battles you refused to lose...
Painting by Vladimir Kush.
