Temple of the Slaves
Unscaved with Time
Never divine
Souls come and linger
In this theatrical pantomime
Temple of the slaves, rise from their Graves
Misfits and jesters alike, juggle souls with rotten spikes
Temple of the slaves, with guns blazing in the skies
A poetic endless war, with the dead at its core
Immortally bitten to mass submission
The spirit of time is ashamed
For thy art is not dead, it’s just in your head
Where imagination strives.
The brain does not lose, it’s potential to cruise
Inside the now decomposed tunnels of time
A show made to say, that we’re not just clay
Our essence still lingers to entertain and play
Temple of the slaves, rise from their Graves
Misfits and jesters alike, juggle souls with rotten spikes
Temple of the slaves, with guns blazing in the skies
A poetic endless war, with the dead at its core
Forsaken creations, will rock the foundations
This temple is on the rise
For the show must go on, so observe what’s been spawned
With no reason or a rhyme
A Malignant infection,
a pandemic show,
An afterlife achievement
Temple of the slaves
Copyright © Peter Paul Valletta | Year Posted 2020
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