The Will to Restrain

"dark"? Not really. Maybe.

Oh my god, what is this word you call love
To the men and women of this world or the next
Of space and time they know not of
Only the whispers of Babylon ring in their ears
And clutch their hearts with tender infection

To mean something more; what is it to mean something more

They’ll set themselves as altars
To a sacrifice performed when the stars awake
As the constellations scream for their existence
In a stage where everyone plays their parts
As if marionettes toyed with by the flame

To mean something more; I want to mean something more

And with knives held high to a blood red moon
I’ll watch the procession of sin flood the fields
It’s sickly claws over me like a plague entombed
As I weep at my passivity and sewn shut mouth; the dead encased in veils.