The Almanack Bible
-Sculptmonger-
Sculptmonger.
You used to be such a great guy,
Now your frisky fingers scratch the veil of what you once where.
Such a misty talent, and crazy alkaloids your thoughts where.
But now frost mauls what used to be the arteries of your soul.
Your feet flowing behind the joke of your past.
And you unable to say a word.
It's been lies and lies.
And years for days.
Be it a month, or a second.
Be it a moth, or a squashed fly.
They will look at you, sculptmonger, and with their rusty vocabularies they will say.
"Was it worth it big guy?"
You and I nod , because we both know the answer.
Now is not the time, nor the place for you to cry.
Sculptmonger, it's not even right to try.
Vanity and ignorance have shaped their minds.
Storing their insignificance in their brain-shaped hives.
Little do we know what's out there.
And we don't really want to find out.
What's the point of waking up to this nightmare.
If what's waiting for us is only doubt?
But never tease yourself with those words.
And never even think about getting near the woods.
They're all playing the same chords.
They're all singing and dancing where they first stood.
Their campfires and their invisible wine.
Along with their TV ideals you can't believe.
Getting drunk under their steel vines.
Raising the stink they always conceive.
-Fragment 1-
He stood where he first was.
Where the world had left his rotten feet.
He glanced at the beasts that had devoured his home.
Everyone he knew and everything he loved.
Them ashes where piling up at his base.
He was almost covered by them.
He was hostile for so long.
But at that sight, he became so fragile.
He was twisted inside out.
And the mere sight of his weakness shattered him.
Leaving little traces of him across the walls.
Across the hallways and doorsteps.
Through corridors and mazes.
Windows and portraits.
He was no longer home, no longer away from it..
Walking away.
Into the woods.
Into the alleys.
By the cliffs.
Until he reached a sea.
A giant scene with a grey clouded sky and the overwhelming ocean.
A boat resting by the scene.
Thrilled to see what was out there.
In search for a home.
He hopped in.
Into the waves and seas.
Marine helplesslands.
Then into rivers.
Then into shore again.
Until he had arrived somewhere.
A nafty place.
A sorry town
Where the worst of them layered.
He was now one of them.
He was now a gearheaded vial.
Ready for the next cargo.
I sent him flowers every monday.
Just because we used to be good friends back when we where young.
When busy people's legs where climbing up the stairs.
I had nowhere to go, so I just hitched a ride and moved along.
When people tilted, I did as well.
When they talked, I talked as well.
Sometime in his travels he met the worst of people.
Most of the infertile land covered in the ice of a hundred fallen skyes.
To even glare at the scene would have made you cry.
He lived there.
Because there was no other place to live at.
He used to talk about that place, when we decided to relax, sit around and chat.
He looked at everyone with such a warmth, as if everyone's a victim of themselves and not otherwise.
It's like horrors just enriched his heart.
While he was stepping on dry leaves.
-Howl-
You are the name I howl in silence.
As these bowels collapse one after the other.
You're the only hope.
In this charriot driven nightmare.
Across the stars.
Across the dust.
As our eyes drift into this infinity.
One handshake after the other.
Bumping into each other, day after day.
Day after day.
As days pass, my bones feel heavier.
My back arches as pain commands.
And my lunacy remains as my only fuel.
So far for noone, and nevermind anything they said.
Now everything is part of a spoiled surprise.
And they bear no simmilarities,
yet they all look the same.
Between these two crosses,
we proudly call home.
Among people we hail as neighbors.
Eveything is up to everyone,
but everyone decides to stay back.
As this wind howls your name.
And sense is split from reality.
As two planets collide, and you're in my room.
And we'll never be together under this skylight.
Under this sorry roof.
For your hands hang by the ceiling.
And mine are too small to reach for yours.
Then you're gone, and it's only me here.
Then they're all gone and it's only me anywhere.
Then they howl my path.
And my legs sway in vain, to the compass of this sickness.
As my weak body is thrown against the wall.
And my bones crumble to the pressure of the truth.
My arm looking for yours.
Our hands whip at each other.
And then you blister right in front of me.
Dragging me down this mortar.
Where I'm led into believing a kiss is worth nothing.
Where I'm fed with your poison.
That destroys what's left from this corpse.
Leaving ashes all over the dunes.
Leaving me to freeze.
Now this scourge stomps the remnants of our highway.
And a once beautiful tree lies rotten and corrupted.
Blocking the airplanes.
Blocking the traffic.
Now this gravy road leads only to a gray city.
Where your corpse roams about.
And your lips flanger an eternal lament.
About a face whose soul was mistaken.
And for millenia.
Our sorrows will be heard.
Every year softer than before.
-You and I, Sculptmonger-
Now you and I , Sculptmonger.
Travel these irritated cities once again.
Where the asphalt rushes from sunrise to sunset.
And reaches our bounds with every turn it's twisted streets take.
Here lie human souls whose hunger turned them into snakes.
And as snakes they do anything so as to lure their prey.
Them beasts of the asphalt.
Ashore on the buildings.
Awaiting for us on their spider webs.
There, Sculptmonger.
Our travels meet, like two arrows in the open.
Like two mercury drops.
As we fuel our escape.
With this sorrow and pain.
Little do we have to leave behind.
On the dark streets of the place we used to call home.
On the wet pavement.
Like strokes of fire, painting the landscape.
Lies that feeling of sore disruption.
That their departure left behind.
As they soaked our skulls with the pain
they cooked for us, on their precious veins.
Them pest, Sculptmonger, them pest, you and I hosts.
You and I in here.
You and I alone.
Them pests and rattlesnakes.
Them fell junk that hunt us day and night.
Night and day.
For cycles, spraying us with their fear.
With their hatred.
You and I, Sculptmonger.
We'll run to the void.
We'll run to the sea.
Just let me decide what end you are.
And I will clear you a path.
Then you'll be free.
And I'll be forever away in the desert.
And I'll be forever in peace up in the sky.
-Fragment 2-
The Sculptmonger was looking around.
As I recall.
When the wind brought memmories to his face.
He could see himself standing in there.
Again and again.
We walked day and night.
Night and day.
As far as we could get.
But every morning.
As we looked around.
We where back in the city.
Back in our houses.
Back in our graveyards.
And you looked back at them.
At our imprisoners.
We worked so hard to cover your eyes.
Yet all you do is open them.
Your eyes still.
Your mouth dry.
As your thoughts burst your toungue catches itself.
You recall a name, and you recall a face.
You recall being something that now struggles to stand up.
You can even smell the beast.
Your teeth grinding themselves.
And a hundred men there to see it.
-Gators-
I looked at the Sculptmonger.
My mind lost in a fit of rage.
To think about him in this world.
About his generosity and warmth.
And how it overshadowed mine.
The first few days I talked with him.
I protected him, like a brother.
I sheltered him like my son.
I even taught him a thing or two.
But now to look at him is something I loath.
Them gators where freed one night.
To chase the Sculptmonger.
And bring him to rest.
I gave him wings, that I then held still to keep him from flying away.
We had to run.
We had to escape.
But he wasn't going anywhere.
Them gators climbed the tree.
And chewed it's roots one by one.
Them gators drilled a hole in the ground.
And with them the Sculptmonger followed.
Now he lies deep underground.
And I haven't seen him for a week or two.
Now he's in the vile, away from me.
And as a protector I failed.
And as a brother I failed.
The Sculptmonger now lairs the brink of hell.
And in a fair sense he calls that place home.
Now it was my own hate.
That brought his memory to rest.
-Past Drop-
The past leaked from the raillings in the form of little water drops.
Falling right into our eyes.
Right into our minds.
With it's downfalling anger, the past shook his legs.
Until they wheren't strong enough to keep him standing up.
The past I remember so clearly.
And in his mind, only chaos sprouts.
One by one, they popped us like bubblewrap.
Me, them, her, the Sculptmonger.
The past that haunted our steps at night.
Now leaves nothing but it's empty feeling.
And our bodies do nothing but embrace the wounds.
Them victims, them bystanders.
Our souls do as they can, but sometimes it's not enough.
Our wills bend as they can, but it's never easy enough.
It's always too hard.
Be it with me, or the Sculptmonger I keep from dying
The Sculptmonger I keep as a partner.
The acid past, the corrosive smell of our youth.
Boiled with the deception and agony of this wholesome perfect world.
Binding us to act like ungrateful idiots.
Who are we to blame anyway?
When it's our own fault that we serve this porpouse.
We serve as jars to retain our stories.
Even so if it's just too much.
We bloat, we explode.
And as containers we fail.
The memory that rushed through the building.
And catched everyone out of guard.
Her flagella piercing through their guts.
Leaving them corpses hanging around.
Who are we to blame?
When it's the construct of someone else that ends up hurting us.
All we do revolves around other people.
And nothing we do is for ourselves.
Sculptmonger, you lay on the fear.
You decide what cord to cut.
What knot to tie.
What dish to cook.
You scorch yourself with your memory, and even if you are living hell,
all my eyes will see is you standing there, struggling to breath.
You feast with the truth if you want.
And let it sever you piece by piece.
I'll lay my head down.
With my own past to haunt me.
And my own sorrows to cry.
Forever look at you.
The same skin.
The same voice.
But a different world.
A different soul.
-Revolt-
A fastening spirit once came up to us.
With his glittering flash on and his surly ideas.
All he looked for was to heal his own wounds.
Opening some in others.
With his frank words he told us everything about
what happened to our hometown.
To our beloved city of cold steel.
Them sharks devoured the ground.
Them giants had erradicated the people.
And as a pest them people slowly died.
I remember the Sculptmongers face,
as he heard this.
It was blank.
Showing nothing at all.
Him Sculptmonger felt nothing.
And no remorse appeared in his stare.
No grief for that plastic haven.
No kept sorrows.
Him Sculptmonger's heart was lost a long time ago.
And his thoughts seeked nothing but the present.
His hollow listening.
-Fragment 3-
Days passed, and our narrow spaces
crippled and decayed right in front of our noses.
Him Sculptmonger becomming every day more and more tired.
As we retrospected back into our stories.
All we found was pain and decay.
All we found was this appendage we couldn't let go.
This city of cold metal.
This crepid metropolis.
Where ghosts hailed at us freely,
wishing we could stay there for as long as we breathed their air.
For as long as we could breath.
We looked at them carcasses.
Them busy people, now condemned to a life as pest.
Him Sculptmonger, always letting himself get all the weight of the world
over his shoulders.
He said he was fine, but as I looked at him
I realised he could barely walk.
And to see him like that always saddened me.
I thought about him.
About what I promised him.
I thought about me, about everyone I ever knew.
About them days, them travels.
Them ill scenes.
I thought about pain, but all pain does is hurt you.
And as a hurt being I shed a tear.
A tear of desperation.
A tear with no other sense.
But them liquid sorrow cleansed my sight.
I gazed upon the gray sky.
And I could now see the clouds where gone.
Them barricades had been dragged away.
And I still feel warm when I think about
the blazing display of stars and planets there was.
Right in top of me.
Them galaxies, them space.
And I , confined to a city of demency.
Them eyes, beacons lit up in the sky.
Them beauty.
Them real.
I held him.
While singing a softening lullaby.
And took him to shore.
Where the sea seemed more peaceful than ever.
We sailed, not back, but forwards.
And them stars cured the Sculptmonger, day by day.
We navigated for days.
Until we reached land again.
And I can still remember him Scultpmonger's face.
When he kneeled on the virgin land.
To kiss the sprout that grew on the soil.
I sat, around there.
With joy, looking at him.
Then into the sky again.
Then always into the sky.
Sculptmonger.
You used to be such a great guy,
Now your frisky fingers scratch the veil of what you once where.
Such a misty talent, and crazy alkaloids your thoughts where.
But now frost mauls what used to be the arteries of your soul.
Your feet flowing behind the joke of your past.
And you unable to say a word.
It's been lies and lies.
And years for days.
Be it a month, or a second.
Be it a moth, or a squashed fly.
They will look at you, sculptmonger, and with their rusty vocabularies they will say.
"Was it worth it big guy?"
You and I nod , because we both know the answer.
Now is not the time, nor the place for you to cry.
Sculptmonger, it's not even right to try.
Vanity and ignorance have shaped their minds.
Storing their insignificance in their brain-shaped hives.
Little do we know what's out there.
And we don't really want to find out.
What's the point of waking up to this nightmare.
If what's waiting for us is only doubt?
But never tease yourself with those words.
And never even think about getting near the woods.
They're all playing the same chords.
They're all singing and dancing where they first stood.
Their campfires and their invisible wine.
Along with their TV ideals you can't believe.
Getting drunk under their steel vines.
Raising the stink they always conceive.
-Fragment 1-
He stood where he first was.
Where the world had left his rotten feet.
He glanced at the beasts that had devoured his home.
Everyone he knew and everything he loved.
Them ashes where piling up at his base.
He was almost covered by them.
He was hostile for so long.
But at that sight, he became so fragile.
He was twisted inside out.
And the mere sight of his weakness shattered him.
Leaving little traces of him across the walls.
Across the hallways and doorsteps.
Through corridors and mazes.
Windows and portraits.
He was no longer home, no longer away from it..
Walking away.
Into the woods.
Into the alleys.
By the cliffs.
Until he reached a sea.
A giant scene with a grey clouded sky and the overwhelming ocean.
A boat resting by the scene.
Thrilled to see what was out there.
In search for a home.
He hopped in.
Into the waves and seas.
Marine helplesslands.
Then into rivers.
Then into shore again.
Until he had arrived somewhere.
A nafty place.
A sorry town
Where the worst of them layered.
He was now one of them.
He was now a gearheaded vial.
Ready for the next cargo.
I sent him flowers every monday.
Just because we used to be good friends back when we where young.
When busy people's legs where climbing up the stairs.
I had nowhere to go, so I just hitched a ride and moved along.
When people tilted, I did as well.
When they talked, I talked as well.
Sometime in his travels he met the worst of people.
Most of the infertile land covered in the ice of a hundred fallen skyes.
To even glare at the scene would have made you cry.
He lived there.
Because there was no other place to live at.
He used to talk about that place, when we decided to relax, sit around and chat.
He looked at everyone with such a warmth, as if everyone's a victim of themselves and not otherwise.
It's like horrors just enriched his heart.
While he was stepping on dry leaves.
-Howl-
You are the name I howl in silence.
As these bowels collapse one after the other.
You're the only hope.
In this charriot driven nightmare.
Across the stars.
Across the dust.
As our eyes drift into this infinity.
One handshake after the other.
Bumping into each other, day after day.
Day after day.
As days pass, my bones feel heavier.
My back arches as pain commands.
And my lunacy remains as my only fuel.
So far for noone, and nevermind anything they said.
Now everything is part of a spoiled surprise.
And they bear no simmilarities,
yet they all look the same.
Between these two crosses,
we proudly call home.
Among people we hail as neighbors.
Eveything is up to everyone,
but everyone decides to stay back.
As this wind howls your name.
And sense is split from reality.
As two planets collide, and you're in my room.
And we'll never be together under this skylight.
Under this sorry roof.
For your hands hang by the ceiling.
And mine are too small to reach for yours.
Then you're gone, and it's only me here.
Then they're all gone and it's only me anywhere.
Then they howl my path.
And my legs sway in vain, to the compass of this sickness.
As my weak body is thrown against the wall.
And my bones crumble to the pressure of the truth.
My arm looking for yours.
Our hands whip at each other.
And then you blister right in front of me.
Dragging me down this mortar.
Where I'm led into believing a kiss is worth nothing.
Where I'm fed with your poison.
That destroys what's left from this corpse.
Leaving ashes all over the dunes.
Leaving me to freeze.
Now this scourge stomps the remnants of our highway.
And a once beautiful tree lies rotten and corrupted.
Blocking the airplanes.
Blocking the traffic.
Now this gravy road leads only to a gray city.
Where your corpse roams about.
And your lips flanger an eternal lament.
About a face whose soul was mistaken.
And for millenia.
Our sorrows will be heard.
Every year softer than before.
-You and I, Sculptmonger-
Now you and I , Sculptmonger.
Travel these irritated cities once again.
Where the asphalt rushes from sunrise to sunset.
And reaches our bounds with every turn it's twisted streets take.
Here lie human souls whose hunger turned them into snakes.
And as snakes they do anything so as to lure their prey.
Them beasts of the asphalt.
Ashore on the buildings.
Awaiting for us on their spider webs.
There, Sculptmonger.
Our travels meet, like two arrows in the open.
Like two mercury drops.
As we fuel our escape.
With this sorrow and pain.
Little do we have to leave behind.
On the dark streets of the place we used to call home.
On the wet pavement.
Like strokes of fire, painting the landscape.
Lies that feeling of sore disruption.
That their departure left behind.
As they soaked our skulls with the pain
they cooked for us, on their precious veins.
Them pest, Sculptmonger, them pest, you and I hosts.
You and I in here.
You and I alone.
Them pests and rattlesnakes.
Them fell junk that hunt us day and night.
Night and day.
For cycles, spraying us with their fear.
With their hatred.
You and I, Sculptmonger.
We'll run to the void.
We'll run to the sea.
Just let me decide what end you are.
And I will clear you a path.
Then you'll be free.
And I'll be forever away in the desert.
And I'll be forever in peace up in the sky.
-Fragment 2-
The Sculptmonger was looking around.
As I recall.
When the wind brought memmories to his face.
He could see himself standing in there.
Again and again.
We walked day and night.
Night and day.
As far as we could get.
But every morning.
As we looked around.
We where back in the city.
Back in our houses.
Back in our graveyards.
And you looked back at them.
At our imprisoners.
We worked so hard to cover your eyes.
Yet all you do is open them.
Your eyes still.
Your mouth dry.
As your thoughts burst your toungue catches itself.
You recall a name, and you recall a face.
You recall being something that now struggles to stand up.
You can even smell the beast.
Your teeth grinding themselves.
And a hundred men there to see it.
-Gators-
I looked at the Sculptmonger.
My mind lost in a fit of rage.
To think about him in this world.
About his generosity and warmth.
And how it overshadowed mine.
The first few days I talked with him.
I protected him, like a brother.
I sheltered him like my son.
I even taught him a thing or two.
But now to look at him is something I loath.
Them gators where freed one night.
To chase the Sculptmonger.
And bring him to rest.
I gave him wings, that I then held still to keep him from flying away.
We had to run.
We had to escape.
But he wasn't going anywhere.
Them gators climbed the tree.
And chewed it's roots one by one.
Them gators drilled a hole in the ground.
And with them the Sculptmonger followed.
Now he lies deep underground.
And I haven't seen him for a week or two.
Now he's in the vile, away from me.
And as a protector I failed.
And as a brother I failed.
The Sculptmonger now lairs the brink of hell.
And in a fair sense he calls that place home.
Now it was my own hate.
That brought his memory to rest.
-Past Drop-
The past leaked from the raillings in the form of little water drops.
Falling right into our eyes.
Right into our minds.
With it's downfalling anger, the past shook his legs.
Until they wheren't strong enough to keep him standing up.
The past I remember so clearly.
And in his mind, only chaos sprouts.
One by one, they popped us like bubblewrap.
Me, them, her, the Sculptmonger.
The past that haunted our steps at night.
Now leaves nothing but it's empty feeling.
And our bodies do nothing but embrace the wounds.
Them victims, them bystanders.
Our souls do as they can, but sometimes it's not enough.
Our wills bend as they can, but it's never easy enough.
It's always too hard.
Be it with me, or the Sculptmonger I keep from dying
The Sculptmonger I keep as a partner.
The acid past, the corrosive smell of our youth.
Boiled with the deception and agony of this wholesome perfect world.
Binding us to act like ungrateful idiots.
Who are we to blame anyway?
When it's our own fault that we serve this porpouse.
We serve as jars to retain our stories.
Even so if it's just too much.
We bloat, we explode.
And as containers we fail.
The memory that rushed through the building.
And catched everyone out of guard.
Her flagella piercing through their guts.
Leaving them corpses hanging around.
Who are we to blame?
When it's the construct of someone else that ends up hurting us.
All we do revolves around other people.
And nothing we do is for ourselves.
Sculptmonger, you lay on the fear.
You decide what cord to cut.
What knot to tie.
What dish to cook.
You scorch yourself with your memory, and even if you are living hell,
all my eyes will see is you standing there, struggling to breath.
You feast with the truth if you want.
And let it sever you piece by piece.
I'll lay my head down.
With my own past to haunt me.
And my own sorrows to cry.
Forever look at you.
The same skin.
The same voice.
But a different world.
A different soul.
-Revolt-
A fastening spirit once came up to us.
With his glittering flash on and his surly ideas.
All he looked for was to heal his own wounds.
Opening some in others.
With his frank words he told us everything about
what happened to our hometown.
To our beloved city of cold steel.
Them sharks devoured the ground.
Them giants had erradicated the people.
And as a pest them people slowly died.
I remember the Sculptmongers face,
as he heard this.
It was blank.
Showing nothing at all.
Him Sculptmonger felt nothing.
And no remorse appeared in his stare.
No grief for that plastic haven.
No kept sorrows.
Him Sculptmonger's heart was lost a long time ago.
And his thoughts seeked nothing but the present.
His hollow listening.
-Fragment 3-
Days passed, and our narrow spaces
crippled and decayed right in front of our noses.
Him Sculptmonger becomming every day more and more tired.
As we retrospected back into our stories.
All we found was pain and decay.
All we found was this appendage we couldn't let go.
This city of cold metal.
This crepid metropolis.
Where ghosts hailed at us freely,
wishing we could stay there for as long as we breathed their air.
For as long as we could breath.
We looked at them carcasses.
Them busy people, now condemned to a life as pest.
Him Sculptmonger, always letting himself get all the weight of the world
over his shoulders.
He said he was fine, but as I looked at him
I realised he could barely walk.
And to see him like that always saddened me.
I thought about him.
About what I promised him.
I thought about me, about everyone I ever knew.
About them days, them travels.
Them ill scenes.
I thought about pain, but all pain does is hurt you.
And as a hurt being I shed a tear.
A tear of desperation.
A tear with no other sense.
But them liquid sorrow cleansed my sight.
I gazed upon the gray sky.
And I could now see the clouds where gone.
Them barricades had been dragged away.
And I still feel warm when I think about
the blazing display of stars and planets there was.
Right in top of me.
Them galaxies, them space.
And I , confined to a city of demency.
Them eyes, beacons lit up in the sky.
Them beauty.
Them real.
I held him.
While singing a softening lullaby.
And took him to shore.
Where the sea seemed more peaceful than ever.
We sailed, not back, but forwards.
And them stars cured the Sculptmonger, day by day.
We navigated for days.
Until we reached land again.
And I can still remember him Scultpmonger's face.
When he kneeled on the virgin land.
To kiss the sprout that grew on the soil.
I sat, around there.
With joy, looking at him.
Then into the sky again.
Then always into the sky.
Comments
I'd love to get possitive feedback
And thank you very much for reading it.
(Didn't knew where else to post it, people in here speak spanish y'know)
Note 2 :
Here's something for you to listen while reading (not mine)
http://www.myspace.com/microinfinito
Oh , by the way, it's not "done" >.>
............................ do you think id get banned for adding that to my sig?
I believe not, but people wouldnt like it.
Did you like it? :B
Then what should I smoke?