A painting stripped of its face
Hangs empty before our eyes
Lost, you gaze through its rotten frame
Blind you try and understand
Do you try and evaluate your thoughts?
That lie obscure in mid air, or does the hand next to
You
Push your opinions through the door?
Shut your thought process off
Hanging stripped, whilst bleeding from your eyes
With which you see your reflection
An image with your tainted clothes
You, the piece to form mosaica
I see the fear in the eyes of myself
As I'm made an example of and mocked upon
The flashes of bright, now turn red as my blood
Drains and my body withers into pale horizons
Slowly I turn and face the world
Always, narrow as my tired eyes lead blindly through
Its maze ans stairs
In which the shadows loom.
Steady now, you're almost there, as if you care...
Your keepers gone away forever
Hanging in the wind, it seems you'll stay all night
Spinning through the sights
A constant visual is calling me and waiting to decide
In the only way through is in me through;
With your head down buried, floating in self pity you
Show...
You a man who sees his reflection
An image drowning very slow
You the piece to form mosaica
