The Place

My dream is beige
The floors are red
The atmosphere is cushion
It's safely dangerous

It's not candles
Its barely light
The smell is ignorant
And the taste is a few

It wasn't Eastern
Nor Western
It was a scene or two
On a big pixel wall

The dream had been forgotten
But an envious place was the memory
And then on a carbon road I remember
That I forgot again...

Foundation

The name is Blank
An impressionist beast
the goal is expressionist
What is war but an article

There are no holes in the sky
just a deflection
A plague of a conqueror's dream
And a rise in levels of blood

We've become our own children
No womb and no science
Drowned in flags
In Nationalistic machines and clay

Guns are sacred papers
Laying flesh into beautiful bullets
Limitless heartless injections
And morphine-loaded empathy

God is the face of war
And the 'slaves of freedom"
modeling on a runway of tanks
And a victory in the name of a corpse

The branding is Injury
Who's the best shredded hero?
What are conferences but chords
And throat slashing dollar bills

The world condemns your condemnation
we made love to machines
And then we prayed,
"We want peace"