Martyr Art

Awaken, as from a tormented sleep
 With eyes anxiously looking to creep beyond this
 Twisted dementia displayed on the walls
 Mysterious mindsets and ink-droplets fall
 Muses take flight in an all out war
 Shall I catch with open hand?
 Or let it fall and start again?
 Such words burn the skin
 So, enter stage right, mic in hand
 Before the micro-cosm, stand
 Display my efforts, after all
 Don't expect them recognized
 Hourly torture, chaos ignite!
 Beauty and art give a sign of life
 But, as Balzac and Hardy profess
 The martyr will burn for her canvas
 Elusive horizon
 I'm not a threat, you see, I'm for some reason
 Always on trial
 Object of detestation – always on trail
 O, Solitude! With thee I dwell!
 With thee I dwell in our assiduous, gated hell
 Trivial – this mind and spirit world
 You can't compare their worth to what is real
 At its best, all the critics must confess
 This work can outlive death – so what is real?
 So what is real? Because I can't describe
 Half the shit I feel inside your crimes
 Targeted intent eviscerating innocence
 I swear I'm not a threat
 Put down your defense
 I swear I'm not a...
 All I can do is watch in awe
 Feet raking the sand
 Hands bound by molten ire
 As the broad guillotine blade
 Sinks into the horizon
 Streams, streams of burning gold burst forth from ultramarine
 Expansive veins and reach towards me, lending heat to the air
 As the Earth is sliced in half and the dividing line approaches
 For every stage turned wonderland
 For every sound turned song
 For every song turned experience
 For every hour drawn long
 ♪
 Accablées de misère en décembre
 Les muses se baignent en flammes
 Noyées dans l'ombre elles disparaissent
 Attendant le divin peintre de l'Univers, le Soleil