the drip of times past perverse
sweet aroma of foolish folly
it was in my blood once long ago
turning peace into pain
turning solid ground into swamps
the wretched stench of new orleans
slipping it’s way into the veins of angels
making men tremble into feeble boys
contorting minds into vast canvases
full of fuzz and the kernel of vanity
they say it’s quench makes you real
but in reality it hinders your sight
prevents you from seeing the light
smog in the view of what is right in front of you
all that is good, true, and full of life
and upon rebirth nothing
absolutely nothing
nothing but black and ice