Past

Born underneath the covers of a sanctuary
Is a boy who dreams of purity divine
An unwrapped present only kept by him and time
Thrown away by harlot painted scarlet in the sky

Touched and tampered in the house between the valley peaks
Pampered with corruption, miracles, and wine.
The harlot scatters all the ashes, erroded memories sublime,
of a world where mothers cry for childern in tune to die.

Clouds commence to gather forth to thunderstorm and rain
in the fury of the sorrow the boy remains
Inside the shell where he pertains what mother taught at day
the memoirs of an angel, who on her death bed here, now lays

O'er hills of snowy quilts, of furrowed, loving guilt
Thrown into Destruction, by a love who always stoned
The heart and soul and mind, with corruption in the wine
The boy Grows to only know about wonders of his time.

Where long ago the harlot, tempted him with rhyme.
Coy in her queries, to keep him by her side
Where Now today a mother, Forever now must cry
Covered by the covers covering the family lies

Where truth and alibies paint the sky in black and whys
A lad from six to seventeen with somber look inside his eyes
Faded, yet not jaded, by the whispered starry sighs
The Rain that Time had Made with Life, arise for when he cries.



Story man story man, dream catcher of this tale
Remember all the dreams tonight, and please, please wish me well
Mother is alright I know, and father's down the hall
and Harlot's gone away so all
The children now may dwell
in Autumn's fall...