Hangover Mourn (Roula's tune)

Still and silent morning with no sign of your sun
feeling like a missing half of one.
At the moment you walked out the door
there I slept fetal in pangs of silent starvation
for a drop of you
to once again, vibrate in my earnest core.

I hold my heavy head in my hands
profound load, unsteady on my shoulders
like a piling of boulders
withdrawing from the drug of you
last night so near
nearer than any tonic has ever been.

How do I wait to inhale you again,
my sweetest addictive distinctive cocaine?
Though I tremble and jitter in my addiction
the anticipation of your magical spell sustains
and wipes all traces of evaporated aches
from a hangover mourn, heavy with rain

Shattered (Danny's song)

We are children of fallen grace
falling into the infinite with shredded wings
We are the Angels of grey
trapped within the glare of the intrepid

We are children of fallen grace
The select few, downcast to harsh semi-non-reality
and we dance to rythm of seductive starlight
with all our lucid smiles, melting

The razor monotony, the elastic continuity
forever in motion, forever still
Infernal anguish
What is the price?
Tell me oh Unseen

We are children of fallen grace
The heirs of hollow addiction
If the moon burst into flames and come crashing down
Would we float?
Or are we simply replaced by unknown?

We are children of fallen grace
If I slash my skin a thousand times
to bleed out the poison that is Essence and Mortality
Will I be as beautiful as you?

We are children of fallen grace
The entity of Implication
but I,
Am the triggerhappy retort of Heresy
I,
Command the rotation

Let me drink from the grail of the untamed
afflict my senses with the blight that is Faith
Smother my lips with scarlet shades of Hope
Choke on the filthy aroma of undeniable, transcendental Salvation

The liquid turns to powder and burns holes in already searing minds
The clouds turn to steel and forge their path to collision
Down, down, down
The glass will shatter to a thousand shards
and pierce the barriers, penetrate the acknowledgement
It's all illusion, Heresy is gone

We are children of fallen grace
falling amongst the demons
falling through spirals of oblivion
over and over and over again

The Child in the Middle

His poker face
reveals no truth
impermeable mind
abysmal ruth
a closed chamber
with secret doors
gigantic foot steps
on squeaking floors
a travelling soul
who's been here before
a new beginning
with so much in store
anguished wrathful
in his solitary space
yet, fills others' lives
with emotional grace
poised in actions
intentions and deeds
of no concern
to his existential needs
designs peace treaties
for conflicting views
gives even the devil
a million excuse
cares not for his fate
like the "story of the seed"
a wild flower stemming
from a rock indeed