memories from a war in Vietnam.
 
	 
 
	Eye of Salamander, Heart of Newt 
	 
	Collections of defences, suit of armor made of glass 
	There is no central heating, high above this plane of grass 
	Something in the distance, has the odor of the grave 
	This is no place for children, even fathers can be brave 
	 
	The lightning from its voice, has a motion swift and true 
	A dagger of deception, flying straight for you 
	Demons have a calling, though not one of greed 
	Emancipations whisper, harbors notions of great need 
	 
	I am the bringer of conviction, the center of the art 
	But only fools will follow me, to the places far apart 
	Mansions have their seasons, left alone upon a hill 
	Anger is no secret, to the knight who still must kill 
	 
	Bring no laughter to this table, it is bitter in its gall 
	There is no place for dreaming, in this green room down the hall 
	Place your faith in alabaster statues, hid in notches on the wall 
	Say a prayer to heal a monster, just a human after all 
	 
	Within a box, covered in ebony, a diamond for its key 
	Lie the ashes of desire, to be cast silently away at sea 
	It is simple in its danger, this parting from the way 
	Bring no master to this banquet, but the sinner has to stay 
	 
	Call the name of reason, scream it to the stars 
	The fault of justice, may impart a meaning, namely ours 
	For the sake of the defender, no sound may break his lips 
	Not when the anchor has been weighed, from these crimson ships 
	 
	Gather a convention, of the brightest and the best 
	Send them into the night, to a place they face the test 
	A cinema is not the world, a fiction does not ring true 
	Going down has no return, not for me and you 
	 
	 
	 
	Anunitu (C) 2001