Plotting points on a map
If point A's where I've landed, then point B's where I wish I was at
In between said points is a storm cloud forming the fore-written laws that enforce how the stories elapse
Life in a matchbox
Striking a fuse to a move on the chessboard, checkmate
Like months to a fresh flame
Death's gaze dawn heavy pours on the pawns of a fresh day
Cause and effect, like carcasses fall from the force of the wreck like dominoes
Pour from the time glass sandstorm particles cast over all in this mess
Dawn of the vanguard template
Tarmac scattered on a spectrum, following a set path goose-step
Four laws numerous form from the manmade mandates channels of the death march, who's next?
The periscope lines of these movements
Back to the chalkboard spinning like computers
End-game total, grimace at the half rate cynicism parlay vision of the future
Sunshine rays on the radar are sweeping an unholy sequel this evening
Stream of the four points forming co-ordinates caught in the mortuary grease we're secreting
Breaths grow heavy, lung sacks weathered raw
Set course pattern stretch death door teleport
March of the crow's feet nails in the coffin tops
Caught in the annals like a Copperpot travelog
In these days of the behemoth
Great days fall foul to the storm cloud
Short of the centre tapped like inner city switchboards bleeping
So meet me in the Rosegarden, left at the turnpike, under the tarmac, last time ever see
Rose petal littered landscapes rise up from the grid patterns cast in these earth shattered fragments
Can't see through the trees mortar block dust smothers all in the spectrum
Plants of the universe open to pollinate
Grid patterns grimace at the glorious colour waves
Yeah
Towns lost miniature rail road patterns pass, grid patterns pass over life lost linear
Kerouac cinema, dead pan road films, carved from the bone brittle scars of the canon beams
Waves of the future clash with the past, these marvellous back flips deep in the omens
Cast in a concrete cenotaph planting and penning raps parcelling venom sacks doper
Until the heavens crack open and the paths get soaked by the bars like pins in a rat maze ascertain motion
Gravitate lacerate acid rain potions
In a place where the granite slate laminates walls to the floor lined lawless
Cracks stay filled up tours the back straight map face walls of the match face porous
Grey grains in the daylight storm of the swansong
Heads get smashed into pieces
Swords in the chest plate, animate jigsaw patterns, fade gaps in a death door thesis
All that has gone wrong thrives in the skirting
Lines of the slipstream dive in the tide of the verminous right wing turbulence hiding the truth in the clues of a fresh fire burning
So meet me in the Rosegarden, left at the turnpike, under the tarmac, last time ever see
Rose petal littered landscapes rise up from the grid patterns cast in these earth shattered fragments
Can't see through the trees mortar block dust smothers all in the spectrum
Plants of the universe open to pollinate
Grid patterns grimace at the glorious colour waves