There is an eye waiting for the perfect again ambuscade
Flickering lies, smelling around from your tastes in the air
Sensing the leaves of fears released now, breathing you
Evilly rejoicing from the music of your heartbeats to be gone
Palming your backs with an imaginary warm blowing
Stale breath rhythmically on and on down your philosophy
Growing downward from your stem of conscience, pushing and
Weave-rooting into the dungeon of your make-believes
Feeding from your eyes, should it see through your dreams?
For what all we believe in are nothing but beliefs and chimeras
And once more, every time your hold a beat down for a tic
And what you want to think is air runs upward your malice
Who is this one that stings rear ends back at all retinas of yours?
The very one that cries out loud at night when you veil all your excuses out
Those well-stoned sores kept thickly down on the ground of your certainties
Who is that very one that inwardly knows about that?
