Generations

Generations trying to figure out the meaning of life
Trying the burning wood on its life's coal fire
Burning embers in the smoking room of the public bar and heart and strife
Disillusioned in depth performance the chasing of the pyre  

Who the hell am I. I'm embroiled in a conversation with the dark shadow night
I am the reducer of thoughts. The knight of chivalrous yawning pigs
Festering in a castles turrets boudoir ready and able to fight
Like the Ancient Greek picking and tugging on the tree bearing figs.

Who
I am
Festering
Like

Change direction because the strobe light of epilepsy commanded me to
In a vat full of foaming mouth girating on the floor
I'm an incumbent passenger in the portrait of my life the guesser of who
The knocker on the hoof of a life the tapper on the door.

Lest the man playing games is an intervention
A plaudits commune on a sticky bubblegum seat and tray
Flames growing more angry within an insipid invention
This is my world you bastard I did it my way.

Taking time and effort there will be no conclusion
Just a depth of stress in this already altered state
They will hang and draw you for it's just an illusion
Your paradise Is a homicide the ticket stamped as fate.