Cotton Ferox - I can still hear the music

Remember the good old days. Forget about tomorrow. Recall his twisted face. Pain inside the marrow.

Men became jealous and guarded their own. Holy lakes of sewage. An acceptable sacrifice.

They hold aloof from conclusions while they investigate the same. Realise the nominal without a given name.

The promise of a miracle. The legend of a hidden teaching. He left them. Shut himself up in his cell and, they supposed, went to sleep for an hour or more.

I was forbidden to paint pictures of the human form. But I did it all the same. Who’s to blame?

The singing of the pilgrims who roam around the land. Points of focus in blurred states of mind.

Listening to music to arouse longing for music. Beats in synch with human hearts. Sounds in synch with human blood.

Words on music, music on words... It’s all the same to us.

The death point in time and space, the crucial turning point when fatal decline takes full charge and the music stops.

The ministry of eradication taught us that it’s always too late, too late. Too late for what? I can still hear the music.

Faded glory, jaded story. Remember the good old days.