Incoming
Transmission
From the far reaches of my mind
There it sits
Concrete
Locked into position and pushing all things out its way
What is a measly obligation but a chore
To the force that's boring a hole
And that faces me,
Staring into these dead eyes, this dead cell
That would otherwise be rotting away
Get a grip. Come alive. Come awake
There is a beacon in the distance. (Screaming at me)
Calling out my name. (Tugging at my neck)
Paving the way. (Paving the way)
For all the things that may come to me
I suddenly rise. What is the time?
And it dulls my nerves but it's clouding my senses
It opens up my eyes to all of the voids I could be filling
Makes me weak. Makes me ache
So much that anything I can imagine is functional
And any line I can draw is sublime
There is a beacon in the distance
Calling out my name
(Rushing my blood, taking control)
Paving the way. (Paving the way)
For all the things that may come to me
In the dead of night
Now it possesses my heart
What's the harm in a call to motion?
What does it matter the form that the focus comes?
(The form that the focus comes)
I crest. Open. Electrified. And shaking
It's a terrible sign. It must be
What has this done to me?
It makes me feel alive when nothing,
Lately, seems to be working
Don't fight it
What is the harm in losing yourself in something?
Just a little. Just a little. Just a little
More
I pull from anywhere I need to
To feel alive again
More
In the dead of night
I wait for the call
To infect me again
These parallels are power lines now