Tired of walking down,

the cold and dark alley of pain

Treading the pathway,

leading to no loss no real gain

He stops to take a tired breath;

and has an epiphany

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Happiness is a wretched prostitute;

in fancy clothes and a painted face

Her seduction is old… oh so very old;

but it tastes fresh on the lips of desire

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I want a knife;

the sharpest,

of all the knives in the world

The knife with an ivory grip;

and a gleaming edge;

engraved with obscure ruins

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O’ Lilith!

Was it really you?

The mother, the equal?

Upon the flowers of Eden,

the first drops of dew?

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Virtue is a demon,

which we raise in the name of God

The wizards and their vimen,

while the multitudes stand all awed

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Once I wanted to be immortal

Experience each pleasure;

life had to offer

And live each dream;

my imagination did proffer

But then I saw;

and then I felt

Each pleasure came with pain;

that dreams were a loss,

and not a gain

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