I am living...
upon the edge of a knife...
the edge of the precipe of justice,
it lies waiting with quiver on the other side,
dancing on the edge of a razors edge divide.
I am living upon the knifes dancing jagged edge,
as particles of anger float upon the edges stress,
the stresss of the edge collapsing into possiblity,
of edge of madness falling down into my souls dark divinity,
collapsing into a point of madnesses infinity.
I am living upon the edge of a knife,
as my soul is torn back like a neck at stresspoint,
the edge of the knife burning the bridge of sanities return,
as I feel the anger of the mystery of the stress point in my memory burn.
That stress point is approaching,
its madness is encroaching,
upon the halls I try so desperately to hide,
it dose reside,
and only in this refuge,
does the edge of madness subside.
Take this knife and bring it to my hand,
as I transform the ethereal edge into a vicous tool,
and I cut the excise of torture from my heart,
lest the madness,
it takes over,
and over me it rules.
Let me take this knife and transform it to the sword of damacles,
let it burn with my fevered intention,
to carve out the cancer in my burning soul,
to keep it from the madness of madnesses intention,
its bars composed of my own disessction of secret intention,
those bars materialzied from my souls vivesection,
those bars so strong,
these bars wrought of my own invention.
Let me break free of the bars of my own madness,
let the circle of fury be broken,
so that the hidden ache and intention of my soul,
it may finally be spoken.
I am living...
on the edge of a knife..