Evacuation dreams

 

Evacuation screams.

Boarding trains

to anywhere but here.

Time ceases to turn,

the sky burns

as missiles lock onto our dreams.

No walls built will contain the rage

as the earth spits her venom.

Evacuation dreams

but nowhere is safe, just a cage

of humanities depravity

when the dust settles

on a misunderstood fairytale.

 

Tick, tick, tick,

the bomb is set.

The neon timer is lit.

The click of the safety

being flicked off

a rifle, as time ceases

its next beat.

The men in the high tower

fill themselves on truffles and caviar.

A meal fit for the beast.

The air filled with metal birds

dropping loads, the shit hits the fan

as oil fields explode.

A new star in the day light,

turns the world to twilight

in the blink of an eye.

As the fallout dust

crashes our dreams,

I hear an angel cry.

 

Evacuation dreams,

but escape is a myth

when the air screams,

the seas bleed for us,

and the storms are manmade.

Greed seeds fields of dead trees

and the earth weeps

for yesterday's peace.

Sandcastles in the wind,

as the cities crash to the ground.

 

Our evacuation dreams fill our eyes.

Peacefully village in the summertime,

a beach side retreat in the prime of life,

A mountainside paradise

where the trees are topped

with snow and ice.

All dreams die.

As we see the fire fill out eyes,

and screams evacuate our lungs

to join the screams of the mother

Earth in her final song.

The storm before the calm

 

The first rays of dawn sit lazing on the horizon,

but a heavy wind is rushing in.

A swirling vortex of pain

for anyone that gets in the way.

It can’t be seen in the light of day,

just a slight stain in the universal consciousness.

A sense of foreboding makes

a home in the bones within

and like animals before disaster

we prickle with fire inside our blood.

Looking for signs of impending night,

looking for the things that cause us fright.

The flight instinct is high.

Something is coming in a flood,

a wave of hurt to wash away the peace

that has been flowing gently.

 

The news drizzles out lies

to unsuspecting ears

in trickles of truth,

propaganda and fear.

It blurs the lines,

selling us a story, of us vs them,

good vs bad, divide the room,

set the coin spinning,

whichever side it lands on

will be our downfall.

Hear the call through the gloom.

The storm is near.

The hail is here, a thousand cuts as 

it makes lands fall and people run in fear.

 

Hear the drumming,

of the raining fire.

Hear the marching,

the machine gun fire.

Hear the storm

as it inches closer.

Hear the screams

as they screech higher.

Hear the end as it begins.

Hear the sins of man

becoming thunder

as anger reigns again.

Hear the lighting of the funeral pyre.

 

The noose is around our necks

A lasso around the chest,

we are caught in the nets,

as the dredging of humanity begins.

Scream, for it will be

the sound of our times,

the song we will sing every night.

The lullaby that says goodnight to the fire.

 

The storm is here

It has been here for longer

than most care to hear,

we dare to be brave

and hold ourselves proud.

We raise our voices loud,

to be heard above

the hateful clouds

that crowd around.

On the horizon

those grey darkening skies,

so angry, inspiring fear.

But I know in my heart

that beyond the grey

a brighter day

always sits in wait,

if we can just clear the air.

Misery's treat

 

Fuck away the pain,

get high to hide your shame,

another name, another game,

another hit to these bruised lips,

another wasted saviour

couldn't fix this with another kiss.

Another sip of that nectar

to ease the sting,

angels sing in demon voices,

he whispers back with a grin,

and the cycle repeats

over and over again.

 

Another night to blame the drink,

another drink to hide the blame,

another drink

to shut down the brain.

Sink another and another

until the sky vomits

pretty colours.

Nothing works

when your skin is

tattooed with the stain

of those greying days,

like a decaying mainframe

left on high for too long,

now the wires are frazzled

and the sighs become screams.

 

Never dreamed.

Deemed that the

sanctity of a bottle

would save him.

The throbbing in his

head would stop

when the light faded.

The void called him

and he answered back

in the same voice,

the same scream. His choice

his demons, his regime. 

 

Another high to beat the lows,

another night on his toes,

another sigh as the light goes

to another sky,

one he doesn’t know.

And he lays out

on the concrete,

blacked out in a heap,

pooled vomit

stains the pavement,

another bloody fool

on another pathway

to misery street.