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Divine Syndrome
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The Coldest Woods
I'm lost in the woods,
And they're the coldest ones.
Appear specters of light beings,
Then frozen there they go.
I'm lost in the woods,
Deceptions cry in canons.
The foetus of my being
Fossilized under the snow.
And then I see under the ice
Of a frozen pond,
Imprisoned by a thirteen-year winter,
Separated by the fence of my vices,
Drowning pictures and sounds of a reflection,
Marvelous and desperate,
Of my inner self in the waters
Deploying waves of consciousness.
Suddenly I hear those children's cries
I have always refused to hear.
This foetus I buried myself
To gain a tissue of lies,
He's calling me, his distress I can feel.
As I comprehend my loss,
I dig frantically the ground.
My hands are lacerated by the frost.
When I finally find his body
He dies in my arms.
I'm to blame for his death.
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Now it's only between us.
I did not forget you.
Where were you all this time?
If you knew how much I regret...
It doesn't matter, now you're lost.
There must be something I can do.
You and me must combine.
And then I see under the ice
Of a frozen pound,
Imprisoned by a thirteen-year winter,
Separated by the fence of my fears,
Drowning pictures and sounds of a reflection
Marvelous that supplicate
My present self, looking from the border,
To deploy waves of consciousness.
Nervously I start to cry,
The whining that you don't want anyone to hear.
When I rock the rotting child
He whispers conforting lies
Gently to my ears.
As I realize the cost,
I huddle on my own.
Welcoming madness of which I'm the host,
Softly humming to the corpse
The story of a coward.
An autophobic among the others... Amen.
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