Septic Flesh



Heaven Below


A peacock rests alone in the vitreous valley
With an innocent pose like it does not know
On its featherers ventaglia thousands of eyes
Empty since the end of oracles

Clouds create a hollow pillow
For sleepy heads to rest
By denying to submit to the whims
Of their unstable patterns, I glide above them all



Heaven below

Light as a thought, dropping the weight of millenniums
How far can once reach
The answer depends on who this one is
How far can one extend
As far as his limits go...
Solo: Chris