Serenade

I strangle down this conscription hell inside the thoughts of revolutions made.
I proclaim not to know what lays beneath all, in conclusion I stay astray, in seclusion from it all hidden unaware fighting the sense of return of nowhere.
Read the words not written, seek the sense of conclusion of otherwise demented souls.
Scream, revolve in agony, what is left astray can never be unfold.
Sleep as if the hour was long, still the day has come to past and to awaken should be bold.
Revolution is made, if by madmen I wouldn’t know.
I struggle in tired tense, for all the memory to be shown, in concern of what was made, told or heard, I am to old, just to old.
Ask these words, I reveal none, in coincidence I dance numb, I have searched high and dug the ashes, the corpse rise, bitter dimwitted matches.
I starve for revolution…
For what I have told I haven’t got solutions, in respect for anarchy I respect no cult, sect or religion.
Is there a God or a Devil?
Is there a mental solution or are we simply living as demented rejects afraid of the hours passed I ask not for a solution, nor for a creed or resolution I need to find a way, I need to find a path or perhaps I just aim to no solution, mock my words I know you’ll laugh as for what I care it matters not.
Revive the sadness, seek control, for all this cleverness I am still damned alone.
Shake the rattle, skin the bones, bathe in blood, forget the innocents, there were never none…
I’ve written the names.
I’ve plotted the lines.
Center stage, exit right.
For all I care, the play is done.