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DANCERS IN THE DARK
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HOLLOW WORDS TURN TO POETRY.
DANCERS IN THE DARK.
When does one loose his faith?
After tragedy or simple boredom of reality?
I wonder as much as I ponder…
Reflecting on such hollow,
This holy place, this empty church!
A body fills with a void…
So fantasy came to place
And for a while, music and visuals,
Seems to do the trick,
But what is truthfully,
Except for the naked icon,
Blooded upon the cross,
One despair, I question?
The light is here,
It seems to blind all the sanity,
The air suffocate your very own existence,
I watch him dancing on funeral party,
And run from the smile.
Does it really matter?
Does it really matter to end one life?
Does it really matter to die?
The trees and this all masquerade
This stage where I lost my self,
Shall keep play,
Such is the name of this grotesque pretence!
We look for exits,
Same dead ends,
Each times we feed on some fake hopes,
Another unfaithful mistress of the soul,
Take a look around,
To the olds, once like you,
And if one can face the true, it is there...
In his most brutal way,
Like the rope around the neck of the innocent,
Before breaking your spine,
Snap and all,
Puppets on strings
That what we are,
Dancer in the dark…
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