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