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| Bauhaus Swing The Heartache-bbc Session Departure He was in his room, half awake, half asleep The walls of the room seem to alter angles Elongating and shrinking alternately Then twisting around completely so that he was on the opposite side of the room A trick of the light and too much caffeine, he thought Then came a knock on the door And this sound was the same dark-brown tone as the wood of which the door was made At first, he thought he'd imagined it Because it would not have been out of place with the other strange hallucinatory events of that night But then it came again Only heavier this time With a sense of real urgency So pulling himself up And stepping through pools of moonlight and shadow He made his bleary way across the room towards the door And slowly, apprehensively, raised the latch The latch became a fingertip, touching his own Energy sapping as a new form, transversing the edge of his emotions His power became his agony, his power knew no bounds Whereas before, his peace withstood the vastness His prerogative became an endless force of the all impossible His final soul is flying with contempt only Even the legendary glance backward to meet with eternity's stone in peace or save his already destroyed You cannot share, the temperature is rising The ghost and monkeys make a choice This... This... He tried to will himself back to bed He wanted desperately to feel the reassuring crisp, white sheets once taken for granted To be back home, safe as houses, protected by walls covered in familiar patterns But even wallpaper had become sinister to him He remembered staring into the paisley print and seeing a repetition of skulls At night he would listen to the click of heels on the concrete outside And try to imagine the facial features of the unseen figure He would always see his own face And another realization of this prophecy rang terrible and true For at this moment, it was indeed, his own feet that filled the shoes Shoes that no man would want to wear Into the hills then to search for another searcher's closely held goals Into the forest under the billowing leaves Under the dreadful birds, the singing soil, the decrepid babies, the unhappy new loves The preaching alphabutics, the long-lost lovers never to find the safety of their mothers In fact, all the guilty clouds he will move into a playground A sense of moonlight and shadow All the stars touch to the cold molten sunflower, fly to his middle eye The wallpaper had sinister tones Alas, white cold Alas, rainbow's middle infinity's destination. All life's drums drink from bottles and visioins are blinded |
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