Tale of a Dead Man.
1/30/02
12:42
dead men do tell tales.
look at who’s talking here.
dead men do tell tales.
it’s just that no one’s listening.
their hands are the winds that comb through
the trees in the evening, sending leaves clapping.
they walk through our dreams and tease us with familiarity.
they whisper through our lives, and we
dance to their music and they
try and tell us to play out of tune,
but we keep playing the
same old song anyway,
on the same old banal skipping record,
what a diseased, wasted and redundant melody.
dead men do tell tales, but we bury them.
I look in the mirror, and I see the
graveyard in my eyes,
a fresh plot waiting.
I call out for them in the abyss
to speak their secrets,
trying to listen to their melodies
and the tales they tell as they reach for me
through the loose soil
rather then follow their dragging footsteps
right on into the grave,
screaming in their caskets
dead men do tell tales,
if only you’d listen.
dead men do tell tales.
look at who’s talking here.
dead men do tell tales.
it’s just that no one’s listening.
their hands are the winds that comb through
the trees in the evening, sending leaves clapping.
they walk through our dreams
and tease us with familiarity.
they whisper through our lives,
and we dance to their music and they
try and tell us to play out of tune, but we
keep playing the same old song anyway,
on the same old banal skipping record,
what a diseased, wasted
and redundant melody.
dead men do tell tales,
but we bury them.
invoke them.
let the dead in your eyes rise.
so much wasted life.
from cradle to grave,
we race in the in-between.
dead men do tell tales.
learn were they’ve been so you
know were your going.
dead men do tell tales,
let them tell them and let them rest
having finished their buisness.
learn from the past they embody,
the past you buried.
then let them rest.
listen to the dead here,
know them before you let go.
you live their stories.
you are the haunting.
you are them rotting.
let them rise and listen
and let them rest as you burn them.
live the vapor rising, reclaim
your lost and forgotten,
make death himself dead.
rise from the ashes
in the rising sun.
bring your prism
back to one.
1/30/02
12:42
dead men do tell tales.
look at who’s talking here.
dead men do tell tales.
it’s just that no one’s listening.
their hands are the winds that comb through
the trees in the evening, sending leaves clapping.
they walk through our dreams and tease us with familiarity.
they whisper through our lives, and we
dance to their music and they
try and tell us to play out of tune,
but we keep playing the
same old song anyway,
on the same old banal skipping record,
what a diseased, wasted and redundant melody.
dead men do tell tales, but we bury them.
I look in the mirror, and I see the
graveyard in my eyes,
a fresh plot waiting.
I call out for them in the abyss
to speak their secrets,
trying to listen to their melodies
and the tales they tell as they reach for me
through the loose soil
rather then follow their dragging footsteps
right on into the grave,
screaming in their caskets
dead men do tell tales,
if only you’d listen.
dead men do tell tales.
look at who’s talking here.
dead men do tell tales.
it’s just that no one’s listening.
their hands are the winds that comb through
the trees in the evening, sending leaves clapping.
they walk through our dreams
and tease us with familiarity.
they whisper through our lives,
and we dance to their music and they
try and tell us to play out of tune, but we
keep playing the same old song anyway,
on the same old banal skipping record,
what a diseased, wasted
and redundant melody.
dead men do tell tales,
but we bury them.
invoke them.
let the dead in your eyes rise.
so much wasted life.
from cradle to grave,
we race in the in-between.
dead men do tell tales.
learn were they’ve been so you
know were your going.
dead men do tell tales,
let them tell them and let them rest
having finished their buisness.
learn from the past they embody,
the past you buried.
then let them rest.
listen to the dead here,
know them before you let go.
you live their stories.
you are the haunting.
you are them rotting.
let them rise and listen
and let them rest as you burn them.
live the vapor rising, reclaim
your lost and forgotten,
make death himself dead.
rise from the ashes
in the rising sun.
bring your prism
back to one.
