The Harvester Pale light drifts down, The season is ripe for the harvest. Blank eyes flash white Before they're thrust into darkness. Sunset is drawing close With so much work to be finished. Sweat drops from open pores In tiny bullets and rivets. Fruit is plucked from each branch, Copper-tone leaves kiss the ground. One last lucid thought Births a grotesque, twisted frown. The crates are packed to the brim, Juices leaking like blood. The last fruit of the season Crashes to earth with a thud.
Vagrancy Running from the world with one dirty strap over my shoulder I avoid the light that's only found in the eyes of beholders. But tonight I make stale smoke from air so pure And write a tune to the twilight that no one else will hear. Tonight I'll burn it all and leave with nothing on my mind. Just an empty bag and pockets, thanking embers for their time. Tonight the flames will burn and mend and leave it up to chance And I will be born once again inside their somber dance. Yes, tonight I'll make my freedom mine with flames no one can quell. Tonight I'll converse with the stars, if I can just escape this cell.
The Dedication <s>Monsters</s> <s>This is dedicated to the monsters, The low lives, the rabble and the down-trodden impostors. This is dedicated to the boogeymen, The surly cigarette smokers waiting for the day they'll rule again. This is dedicated to the criminals, The wealthy and the poor, the powerful and the pitiful. This is dedicated to the ghosts, The lost spirits who feed on the saved souls of their hosts. This is dedicated to the beast within That hides in sober situations in the deep depths of your skeleton. This is dedicated to the addicts, The passengers stuck on the streets behind all this drug traffic. This is dedicated to the crazy, From the politicians down to the single mother and baby.</s> This is dedicated to all of us who've lost it Because we all play the monster in someone else's dark closet.