Celestiate

Celestial clouds shroud the mystery of the history of awakening making it impossible to really see the truth behind the quickening of quicksand in which we sink,

baffled by the putrid stink that we think without a doubt through every blink we didn't spout,

Then when we stop and laugh about it,

we try and try again to believe we counteract it with

the smack pulled straight from out our ass and cooked to serve at the table of every child of the new generation left in wild contemplation of a bewildering integration,

Reconciliation has no room at the table when the sad rotten fable must continue into the continuum of the new millennium via a million drums singing,

BUM,

BUM,

BUM,

Then you hear the sound of ten  thousand thumbs  being stuck back up the bums of  ten thousand white haired billionaires, as they shout,

GET OFF THE STAGE,

While they die of old age the young rise up and shout back,

WE ARE NO LONGER HIGH ON WHAT LIMERICK YOU THREW AT US TO THROW US OFF THE TRACK,

we've come back,

Back to stitch an old ripped seem,

While you stand still,

Wobbling and seemingly unaware of the tares you alone created, over here and over there,

There all over the news,

THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!

And yet you sit and stare in a state of overwhelming gloriously unglorified fate,

And now you're the one left to contemplate the relative fate of your own children,

And that image in your mind,

That's what makes your head spin.