Memory Soul

Pink Tiki torch light:
burning, burning.
We dance around,
naked in the night;
crimson blight.
All right, here we go.

I don't suppose you know
how slow the day goes
when you spend the darkness
on a couple of tears,
hiding in darkness
where a white face leers.
Cheers! Something is rotten
in my state of mind.
I don't think or suppose
that it would be kind
if I were to tell you
my hatred of time
and of the daily, omniscient
omnipotent grind.

If brevity is wit
then I'll be long;
I'd rather be eternal,
wit dies quick and
I'll string you along,
sing my song as I
ramble ramble ramble
amble my way
straight down to where
I've always belonged.

Let's all arrive
in a wicked,
large throng.
Sing a bawdy tune
of sex and sin.
Bash down the Devil's door
before he lets us all in.
We're in, we win!
We're amongst the wolves
of the sheep;
counting down our dinner
in the dreams of our sleep.
Trying to keep afloat
when we swim out too far
and when the water's too deep,
too dark, too cold,
too strange, too old,
and bold as it sucks us down;
laughs waves at us,
wearing his seaweed crown
while his wife sports merrily
her ethereal gown.

All the shades of gold
burn through the fog
that sifts through
my memory hole.
Sifts through the recesses
and escapes through my soul.
Escapes through the
gaping holes in that
which was my memory soul.