Virtus Sola Invicta

Some of my favourite messiahs are dead
You may perhaps be nervous that the endings are wearing thin.

So much grist for so many mills
So little point in taking offence.

I've rolled with all the punches, and not even come up drunk
Danced around the guiding lights, got perhaps a little lost in the dazzle of lamps
Riding the head wind through Shangri-la, ha!
Aghast in Agharta, a shambolic frolic in Shamballah.

Careless questions clogging the five-pointed sink-holes you dance around
Listless Heathen
Whirled down drains world-weary
The accused are great in number, though if you'd kind enough to line them up
I could find it in me to fire the shots
Temples holed by misplaced homily
Nails all lined up to support heads lording over spikes of infamy.

Your alter-ego can dig the pit
The, once it's lined with silent bones, we can stir the ghosts around
Perhaps take their powder as salve
Though it'll perish your thoughts, i'll tell you.

Curiosity pushed you in, face first on top of all the others
So let's roll the old worm ball down another cerebral hill
Bone over wire racing the funeral pyre.

All wild eyed, world weary
Twisted trees tearing the heart out of Eden
Final resting places soiled as if on queue by those dragging their mean feet, enduring the wait before you
Lightning breaks against the cortex
Rolled into the hole to taste the old face down
A twelve foot round-trip to your discredit.

Careless questions clogging the five-pointed sink-holes you dance around
Listless Heathen
Whirled down drains world-weary
Down drains world-weary.