Lying asleep on a couch made of sheets,
With a chest full of phlegm from the last night’s mayhem,
And the clouds and the sky are the point of an eye
Of a storm made of thought, showing souls what they bought

There near the turnstile’s a bench; rest a short while,
And
Soon, she’ll come.
Coquettish and flirty angelic and dirty
And
All alone…

In nighttime’s illusion, where trains run on fusion
Remains obsession…
Your hand’s on her shoulder, you’re both a bit older,
The Joy’s depressing…
It’s par for the course, a mental tour de force
From the ladies who live in the dream…


And years come and go, some so fast and so slow,
As you run in your wheel, a rat chasing a meal;
Ask yourself what was true; was the sky red, or blue?
Was it just your perception? So young and expectant?

But here at the station reality’s wasted
When
Small talk flowers.
You try not to cry as you look in those eyes,
And you
Talk for hours—

In nighttime’s illusion, where trains run on fusion
Remains obsession…
Your hand’s on her shoulder, you’re both a bit older,
The Joy’s depressing…
It’s par for the course, a mental tour de force
From the ladies who live in the dream…


(Musical breakdown.)


Why are you alone? In the base of your home?
When you’re young and you’re strong, it ain’t hard; get along—
Don’t be stuck in the rut of nostalgia smut,
That’s the past and it’s gone, like a medieval song.

Yet it’s hard to escape from a world your mind makes
When you want fiction…
In the moment you’re there, hold her hand, smell her hair,
It’s a
Perfect Vision…

In nighttime’s illusion, where trains run on fusion
Remains obsession…
Your hand’s on her shoulder, you’re both a bit older,
The Joy’s depressing…
It’s par for the course, a mental tour de force
From the ladies who live in the dream…

The Ladies Who Live In The Dream

Invasion Of Nonsense HW

An eclectic mix of things.

Here are the lyrics:

When you teach the kids to steal, how can you call it wrong?
When you teach we all are gods, how can we all belong?
And when you teach us to desire rights we shouldn’t even want…
How is anyone surprised when our neighbors start to haunt us?
What then is this thing that everybody labels love?
If it’s definition always changes and it isn’t even from above?
And what is right and wrong when we’re taught it’s relative?
What’s the music to this song called the life that we all live?
Do the notes even exist, in a world beyond the song?
If the melody is ripped apart, is the harmony now gone?
Do the pitches still remain, or were they ever even there to know?
And how did it come to be if the composer didn’t write the show?
It’s too marvelous to be a lie and it’s too beautiful to make itself,
And I can feel the painter painting as the music counterpoints the tale—

Come dance with me through ears and minds of humanity’s song…
Come barrel through the cosmos to dimensions that we’re from.
Come Destiny and Grand Design of which we all are one!
And let me know the artist from which all the beauty comes—!

And if it’s part of my story to know the joy and pain of love,
How is it my place to be questioning the brushstrokes from above?
But is it now any less painful than I already knew it was?
Still, a hope deterred makes the heart sick, and filled longing is a tree of love…
And we’re seen in the notes of the melody, some are good and some are wrong;
But the good ones and the bad ones all fall on the keys written in the song…
The melody is greater than a single stricken tone,
No note repeating is itself beautiful all alone.
But then with just two of them, if they play in harmony,
You can turn the hearts of kings and priests and anyone you see.
So one note in a symphony following the melody…
Is a single sad reminder of a life sans harmony.
But a couple of them together, let the intervals perform
And the context of the key progression makes beauty the norm.

Come dance with me through ears and minds of humanity’s song…
Come barrel past the cosmos to dimensions where we’re from.
Come Destiny and Grand Design of which we all are one…
And let me know the artist from which all the beauty comes—!

But remove reliance on a path described inside the song,
And the melodies are painful, and time stretches out too long…




The Lament

Listen to the conscience,
Hear the admonitions,
Vying for positions
To influence you--

But you are rejecting
All the resurrecting
Power now beckoning
To reveal the true--

It's a pirouette, steps we can't forget; and the stage is wet, but we can't forfeit;
It's a show that we live in; even if we're forgiven--
And the the trumpet sounds as we spin around, lights brightening ground, synchronization found.
There's a role to the movement, choreography fluent--
The steps are in our way, makeup in our corollary drives and passions pushing us,
Good intentions slide to lust.
But there's a way to shrug the fuss, find the niche for the blunderbuss
Of you, an instrument of design--specifically made for a certain time.

Time and space are roiling waves like fabric on the windy days
Stretched out by hands beyond all thought
And making all mankind the sought, and
Shouting joy for the list'ning ears and liquidating foolish fears
And inviting all to come along and sing the neverending song--

Listen to the conscience, 
Hear the admonitions,
Vying for Positions
To influence you--

Consider accepting
All the resurrecting
Grace that is beckoning
To replenish you.

Time and space are roiling waves like fabric on the windy days
Stretched out by hands beyond all thought
And making all mankind the sought, and
Shouting joy for the list'ning ears and liquidating foolish fears
And inviting all to come along and sing the neverending song--

Soaring through salvation
Is the final station
Deftly demonstrating
You now know the truth--

And you are proclaiming
Mankind is worth saving
If they'll take the waving
Grace Christ made for you...


Listen To The Conscience

I just found a diamond in the sand.
Imagine my surprise, how glad I am!
And right now all my cares have gone away...
And maybe I'll be happy for a change?
Maybe I'll be happy for a change...

Well I took my diamond to the jewelry shop
With a picture of the Bible on the wall.
I had the main man examine my gem,
And lost my joy just when he shook his head;
Oh, I lost my joy just when he shook his head--!

You see, my diamond was just another grain of sand;
But slightly clearer, and she fit right into my hand...
And maybe I just see the things I wanna see, it's true;
But I can't help but think there's much more to me and you--

You see, everybody's tailor-made!  Contemplated, born, and given shape!
So from a diamond to the sand, It's all been made by the hand of the great I Am.

Adam bit the apple for his wife;
He knew that she'd die, 'less he took a bite.
And so arose the first folks in the land,
Who disobeyed and cursed the plight of man,
Oh, who disobeyed and cursed the plight of man.

And yet in every human that you see
Is still reflected that fine quality
That reminds us all of eternity--
In everyone there's some sublime beauty.
In everyone there's some sublime beauty!

You see, my diamond was just another grain of sand,
But slightly clearer and she really fit in my hand!
Oh but, baby I just see the things I want to see, it's true;
But I can't help but think there's more to me and you--

Because everybody's tailor-made!
Contemplated, born, and given shape!
And so, from a diamond to the sand, 
It's all been made by the hand of the great I Am!

Just found a diamond in the sand...
Imagine my surprise--how glad I am!
That every single tiny grain of sand
Is good as every diamond in the land--
Because, you see...we're all just grains of sand.

You see my diamond was just another grain of sand;
But slightly clearer and she fit right inside of my hand;
And maybe I just see the things I wanna see, it's true--
But I can't help but think there's more to me and you,
Because everything is tailor-made,
Contemplated, born, and given shape.
And so from a diamond to the sand,
It's all been made by the hand of the great I Am.

Diamond In The Sand - -Main - 5 18 14, 7.23 PM

The Beach At The End Of Time (double Instrumental) - 9 21 14, 7.34 PM

Beyond Delirium
I sang a little song,
And it made no sense at the time.

The night was getting on,
The dawn approaching strong,
And the world was melting my eyes.

Then there was the muse,
There was her smile...
That eloquent fuel
To shorten each mile.

But the time just passed too quick,
And the trip was done.
I lost her lovin' touch 
With the risin' sun.

And now I'm awake, now I'm awake.  And now I'm awake, now I'm awake.  Now I'm awake, I can see my mistake.

Her beauty was a lie,
To pacify my eyes,
But yet the genuine thing.

Her soul had been maligned.
I saw it in her eye,
But knew that she could be free.

And that's why it hurt,
When she went away...
The back of a squadcar, 'bout noon yesterday.

And she left more than her things,
At the place where I stay.
She cleft a mound of flesh,
From the heart of me,
And swallowed it down; she swallowed it down...she swallowed it down, she swallowed it down, she swallowed it down, she swallowed it down...

Beyond Delirium,
She sang a little song,
And it made no sense at the time.

The night was getting on,
The drowsiness was gone,
And she was awake in the night...

Awake in the night,
Awake in the night.
She was awake in the night,
Awake in the night...

Beyond Delirium, The Process

Watch out desirae

A septaphonic expression of "regimented cacophony", featuring multiple layers cognitively, musically, and lyrically. Extra-dimensional concepts combine with a shrouded truth integral and known to all, but missed though it be directly apparent. A celebration of a world bridged by apathy, a castigation of the same. A journey through the country and the mind, through the past and the present, and a glimpse of a possible future in the millennial reign of the architect of existence. We are a subset of a greater reality. A fractal for the mind.

Regimented Cacophony