The Mark of Man

Greys

The Mark of Man


A billion ragged sighs of pestilence
A billion swallowed dreams
Omnipotent and infinite
Shaking hands, never so sure, or so severe

Malevolence and violence
Taut, beneath every fibre
Mirrored by grace and beauty
Benevolent and free
Through the skin we see shadows
Yet the tongue remains still
If we could flex every muscle
If we could free the free willed

Smoke pours from the foundations
As we are clouded by the greys

Shining blacks and depths unknown
Passive love and the meek
Excuse and truth are one the same
To those who cannot speak

Echoed by every movement
In this moment you are everything
The weight that may not exist
Crushes some and liberates
There are no rights and wrongs
And no black and no whites
There are no absolutes
Just two hands and one fate

Smoke pours from the foundations
As we are clouded by the greys
With ashen lungs nothing remains
Just two hands, two hands and one fate
Through the reddest of eyes nothing shall remain
Just two hands, and one fate

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