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Mountainous pictures of coloured scenes
Appear upon my face
And the joss stick smoke of sense dissolves
Forever in its place
The shadowy friends that line the walls
All dream while laying down
While the window tapping silhouette
In rain begins to drown
In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more
Foolish thoughts of ecstasy are dead
But without too much concern
In the heart, my hopes by millions
Lay twisted as they burn
The crooked faces of clocks appear
And die in nightmare dreams
While juggling music surrounds us both
And turns our thoughts to screams
In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more
My God, the spiders are everywhere!
With Ruby wine and our tangled nerves
Our mouths flap in despair
And with tumbled words of poetry
We try and prove we care
But the glow-worm light of creativeness
Moves out into the rain
And the joss stick dies and disappears
Its scent alone remains
In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more
In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more
My God, the spiders are everywhere!
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Startpagina →
:: A. A. Lucassen :: →
Pictures of matchstick men →
(Further reflections) in the room of percussion
~
