| First came the word
|
| And that word was nothing
|
| Sounded syllables in boundless thought
|
| Is this it? |
| Or all? |
| Or everything
|
| A reflection between parallel mirrors?
|
| In a book never written
|
| Seen through a frameless window
|
| Nihil est
|
| The opiate of the masses
|
| Diluted and polluted
|
| Curls in wisps over vacant idols
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| To stillborn children
|
| Mother nature gave birth to husks
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| That dissolve and decay back to dirt
|
| In the melody between notes
|
| In the notes in arrest
|
| In discord in a cord
|
| Nihil est
|
| In the words between lines
|
| In the worst of the best
|
| In the dust in the pews
|
| Nihil est
|
| Like words of empty praise
|
| Washing over an empty congregation
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| Like a cancelled play, played out
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| To a sleeping audience of mannequins
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| Like a television flickering
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| Static in an empty concrete room
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| In thoughts so vast nothing is possible
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| When nothing exists everything is always permitted
|
| Existence is no great gift
|
| Death is not a beginning
|
| But in nothing it is a rift
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| Love, Hate in a cold dream
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| A cold clockwork circumstance
|
| A random unknown hidden in simple patterns
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| It’s a chalk outline, not a halo
|
| Leave crutches for cripples
|
| Leave dependence to drones
|
| Lies to the harvest for truth to be sown
|
| In the melody between notes
|
| In the notes in arrest
|
| In discord in a cord
|
| Nihil est
|
| In the words between lines
|
| In the worst of the best
|
| In the dust in the pews
|
| Nihil est |