Fire The Messenger

God sends me mixed messages,
And I manage to misread the body language,
It’s probably anguish in the landscape that man abandoned,
Banished to the barren valleys I vanish, and reappear at random,
Standing solo in the shadows like a phantom in a faded photo,
Waiting patiently with pen poised,
I churn stomachs gutted,
And burn like summer’s summit,
But Saturn still won’t admit to batting an eyelid,
So silently I battle blue giants in the background,
And hope that she notices my distant existence,
Addicted to the solar system’s polar kisses,
My only wish is to die this blissfully cold,
I’m old history, made in my mother’s mould,
Holding my heavy head above the ebbing tide,
My soul’s a stepping stone of solid gold and epic lies,
I told the fickle fisherman not to question the depth of the ocean,
Cos the wise abide by the rules of the rising pools,
Few fools ride the pride of a swollen heart,
And pay the price,
Praying for signs of life,
Like those on Noah’s ark know what hope is like,
Show these folks the ropes right,
I refuse to die so tie the noose tight,
Losing sight daily,
Drifting through a dusty daydream,
When once we were kings of inanimate things,
Now reduced to slavery,
My computer hates me,
There’s no escape in a coffee break,
The prophets make a killing selling stocks in the poppy fields,
And it’s hard to survive on the crop that the harvest yields,
Starved of starlight we beg for forgiveness,
But father time seldom stops to grant pardons,
Cos the rhythm of life is his armoured dance partner,
And the plot thickens with every twitch of the clock’s whiskers,
I watch whispers spread like wild fire but I will not listen,
My ears are flame resistant, the blame is blatant,
My name is hatred on the tongue,
But love is human nature,
Shoot the messenger then later question,
My bulletproof expression,
Dislocate my jaw to relocate a yawn,
From the break of dawn til sundown,
Wore my thumbs down on the keyboard,
And a dumb frown,
Somehow made it through the aftermath of the afternoon,
I’ll be rising soon,
She reminds me I am the moon,
A blue man in an iron womb,
Confusing movement to music with love,
Saying I abuse it,
But these bruises are where I was wounded by cupid,
Amusingly lucid, singing the blues,
You can only assume that I’m human too, humour me,
The rumours are true, It’s too late for stardom,
Cos martyrs are old news,
I do beg your pardon.