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Chase the Poison

Distant storms rage on across the horizon,
shaking the ivory towers of Babylon
listen to the chanting of the mob, screaming for violence
suck in the venom of the lies, buy into the cobra's charm as society dies

Twisted tale of the two headed serpent,
the man in rags becomes subservient
jesters plays for the thieves, while all the angels grieves
empty thoughts, tell a story of murder and mystery
the weak minded become prey of the trickery.
The blind lead the blind in this game of insanity.

Chase the poison through your vein
then chose which regret to remain.
As you dance with the devil, they will all whisper your name
the voices screaming with desire, echoing with a distant pain
Illusions of insects, a plague that slowly infects
and a demon at the core, always wanting more.
Chase the poison through your vein,
chase it straight to your brain
comatose into an overdose.
“Demons run a muck, while the angels run out of luck”

Addicted to the dream of a dream,
hope stretched thin, and the misery can begin
trust found within the eyes of faith,
love forged by the passions of hate.
Memories become emotions, trapped within moments.

“One slip, one fall, and that could undo it all
wrong word, wrong action, that moment you would wish were undone
forgotten are those moments, those unspoken comments.
A single smile, a sly glance, a rare and unique chance.”

Lost within the maze, drones and sheep, asleep within a haze
send out a distress call, a beacon or S.O.S.
A world that is in stress and mother nature is pissed.

The sacrifice was not worthy, and now you can worry
for the gods are angry, as we define our own destiny
walk the path slow for you never know which way to go
lost and confused, raped and used
empty thoughts tell a story
Chase the poison through your vein
chase it straight to your brain
and comatose into an overdose.

(Waits the Reaper)

I'm not the one you came for,
the reaper in black waits at my door
I'm not the one laying on the floor,
I find myself estrange, these thoughts are not my own
destruction and creation is what I've been shown

I'm not the one you are looking for,
clawing at my addictions for more
with a twisted sense of irony,
we all stand behind the mirror with vanity
and I find myself at a loss, for I see the insanity.

'Take my hand, the reaper had to demand
you have no power to claim, no status to command
breath and do not forget to dream.'

I'm not the one you want,
three o.ds is a lesson I've been taught
death can be bought, at the price of a pill
and the reaper in black waits still.

Candles line your spirit, as you tread that path
a solemn tone, in a time of wrath.
The beauty of destruction, forged with the art of creation
as we all walk down the dead man's road
that can be paved in memories of gold.