Melancholia

Alone Under Sky

Birth, for the first time…
The deeper life is grave.
And then something comes I don’t expect…
When suddenly I know… I’m not alone under sky.

Hiding behind a night,
each birth brings us closer to the sweet release.
It’s an unseen God.
It’s a limitless love.
And the kingdoms come and they run from the gun.
They can’t see.
It can’t be.

What slumbers in our souls?

Arousals are the signals.
And in the roar of thunder
a discovery is made.
We are at the centre of a great new world!
Never alone. Never unborne.
Always alone
Never alone. Never unborne.
Always alone
beneath a cruel, cruel sky.

Melancholia

[the doors of Death, Life and Chance]

Time grows heavy -
I long for the fog.
Vivid light – too crude, too bright -
revealed too much of me.
Sometimes we must know the darkness of the mind.
Go the night sea journey blind through the suffering of the soul,
“to learn to love with a love that’s more than love.”

We are the sheep -
thrust in a world of danger and chance,
nourished and destroyed,
awakened from the trance.
Forces sever, yet link us to the Flow.
I bathe in the light-drenched realm of the afterglow.
Darkened spheres attract the distant flame.

Open up these human doors, distancing from evil.
Show mercy to the sad-despised
our highest instincts following – the light.

Hush the silence -
The passing of this sadness is (just) creative breath released.
Ascend the spirit ladder -
past melancholia.

These are the great moods -
the lenses through which we read our minds
to become the living soul (reach through the doors of death, life and chance).

Notions and sensations of such solitude
are simply daylight’s night mood.
To earn the rite to passage,
exiled from the mainstream;
escape to inner growth.
hatchet sounds and sharpened scythe -
God breathes in the breath of life -
Spoken thunder, thought as law -

The Chance

Flower of the soul,
mortal shadows slink in sweat.
It’s the fever of the waiting

and my soon-to-be regret.
Destiny is an air where
lies swallow up the sound.
About to take a chance,
foolishly, I’ll hold the stars in suspense –

I’m a lucky, ruined gambler
living in the rhythm of the absolute wisdom of chance.
In the third of a second
about to occur before my eyes
everything can change when I join the game –
I know that I really can know nothing that is known.

Chance is a god without existence.
We worship but a lie
and work until we die.
Oh I can’t take another one.
No, I can’t change my circumstance
(with fate nor free will).
I can’t obey the rhythm
when it’s out to win or kill.

Simple chances, easy schemes
get in the way of all my dreams.
The spinning of roulette
makes me forget.
Coincidence and accidents
infinite repeats the game of chance
in deluded eyes of the phantom laws.
Illusions cloud, I bet…
against all cause.

I’m a lucky, ruined gambler
living in the rhythm of the absolute wisdom of chance.
In the third of a second
about to occur before my eyes
everything can change when I join the game –
I know that I really can know nothing that is known.

Given the chance (don’t bet your life)
The chance (don’t throw away your dreams)
Your luck will fade; don’t throw it all away.

Steel in My Soul

There is laughter in the air; there’s a voice on the wing.
God’s the greatest dramatist in everything–
Resist the better angel, ’cause it’s a bitter stranger.
What doesn’t kill you keeps you out of danger.

Saints alive! Saints alive!
In the hidden heart.

I don’t know where I come from,
Don’t know where I’ve been.
But I’ve got steel in my soul.
Ain’t no luck in the air….
I know all that I need is passion and truth.
Give me back my youth
and I’ll give it to you.

Running like mad in the waking dream,
(I) can’t get back to the living connection.
I can’t find shelter for my own protection.

I’ve got steel in my soul, steel in my soul, steel in my soul –Ain’t stealin’ my soul.

Won’t make the Faustian bargain, gotta retract the deal.
Mephistopheles will have to find another soul to steal.

And a mysterious comfort puts its arms around you
and holds you close and tells you,
“It’s alright. It’s alright.”
“Sleep tonight. Sleep tonight.”

[Alternate ending: tribute to Paul Williams/”Phantom of the Paradise”‘

Hunger

Satisfaction is the long torture of our wishes and wants -
the endlessness of our requirements.
To one gratified desire, there are ten that stay unstilled.
Objects cannot fill satisfaction.
And the god of irony celebrates the Sabbath of our toil
in the prison-house of Will…
where the starved are never filled.
I’m a river that seeks in vain for (the) sea.
The buried light and half-dreams of the night
lift like the fog erupts
when the spark of dawn interrupts.
I’m ready to believe! I’m ready to receive!
The ache in the heart from the terrible void
and the words that await will fill
will feed and will kill the…. HUNGER.
Hunger! is a dark and dirty alley of the deadened dead-end dreams.
Hunger! Go away!
Don’t come again another day.
It’s not the rain for my parade, no!
Hunger! The pangs are not my serenade
Starvation cuts – It’s a sharpened blade.
Hunger

Smiles of a Sorrow

[for Kurt Cobain]

No free will, free will is gone
left too deepened underground.
And the will is a ripened fruit;
- destiny’s pursuit.

In the hands of God we lie.
At the myst’ry’s end we’ll die.
Time will recognize, time will recognize
the smiles of a sorrow (sorrow) (sorrow).

Mmm— mmm—

At the last breaths of kharma, time we cannot borrow.
We awaken lost as the coin is tossed (as the coin is tossed)
by the Big Hand in the Wishing Well.

Where the bottomlessness is our hell
there are no answers there.
There is no wisdom anywhere.
No! But I can’t complain of pleasure or pain.
And the damned play on, knowing will is gone.
Will is gone, gone, gone
Time will recognize the smiles of a sorrow.
…of a sorrow.

Led By Spirit

[about my mother]

“I gave Him my mouth at 3 or 4 when they laid hands on me.
And until my dying day, I have the pow’r to see.
I have the power. I have the power.”

It’s a gift. It’s a curse.
Sometimes I could have known no worse.
It’s a wound. It’s the Light.
Sometimes it’s a candle in the night.

“I have been to the riverside. Oh–
Their confessions to confide.
I don’t fear it. (I’m) led by spirit.”

“I came down from the mountaintop, where they knew me well.
I walked down past the riverside where Baptists kneel and fell.
I have the gift of sight. The gift of sight.”

“From the hills of Tennessee to the big city life I knew.
(I) had to search my soul to find the answers to be true.
The spirit came to me. She came to me.”

It’s a maze. It’s a fight.
Sometimes I shout to God at night,
“Give me strength and the Word.”
I know the sound of the voice I heard.

It’s a gift. It’s a curse.
Sometimes I could have known no worse.
It’s a wound. It’s the Light.
Sometimes it’s a candle in the night.

Messengers

I tried to find my muse today – the song within my art.
A silent mind, a savage mood, raging wild at heart.
Wrestled with the angel in a darkened delta field.
As the daughter, little girl in me melt and healed.

I gave the message to the girl – the messenger in me:
“You owe nobody in this world – no, not even me.”
My mother and my sisters spoke; it could have been The Word.
But the message meant for me wasn’t to be heard.

I wish I were a young girl with the chance to start again.
I wish I were a virgin who’d passed up all the men.
The highest height that I must climb may still be to come.
I’d owed myself a beating then, but now I’m feeling numb.

There is a prowler in our midst standing, hands held out,
tugging on the heartstrings of the faithless plagued with doubt

I wish I were a young girl with the chance to start again.
I wish I were a virgin who’d passed up all the men.

The messengers are still so close and help me to recover
till the sparrow sings in me a brief song; I’d discover
longing far too early on to ever truly be free.
At times what’s helped me stay alive was its intensity.

Baptized Again

Born from a bad beginning,
I played the Chicago blues.
When everyone failed me and left me alone,
I’d nothing left to lose.
My radio kept me from losing my mind.
I heard what I understood
to be the first music of its kind
from the Delta and the backwoods.

Baptize me again
each time I slide back down.
I wanna be baptized again -
my lower self I must drown.

Elvis taught me gospel and heart;
his rhythm and soul bled through.
Impassioned holy-rollers pulsed
as songs in my heart, they grew.
In tiny, white-worn chapels
where music raised the dead
rejoiced in jubilees of hope.
The preacher man was led.

The preacher man’s dark cries,
with fire blazing in his eyes,
and the rhythm of tambourines
was moving through my veins.
On the long dirt Blues Highway
I paid my dues this way
I shot emotions through my guitar
and said what I needed to say.

Gospels, hymns and the spirit of song
arms raised to heaven’s gate
borne of pain and sensual tales,
sprang from broken hearts and hate.
Baptize me in my music
to overcome hardships and pain.
Its waters filled with a soul force;
got down in a torrent of rain.

Words

You try to hurt me with your words
but it won’t work.
I can’t hurt any more than I do.

You try to cut me to the soul
but you won’t win.
There is no room in my heart left for you.

I’ve reached the point of no return.
There’s no turning back for me.
Life’s too short to waste it in pain
so stay away from me.

(and) take back your words…
So take back your words of hate.

I used to cry my life away
but now I don’t.
I won’t bend down and I weep no more.

It’s too often heard -
that silly little word, so meaningless and small.
Don’t bother to say it at all. Take back your words.

Take back your words… Take back your words of hate.
Actions speak louder than words!

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