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Just For Today

the bell rings, the she beast takes to running headlong down the old visage hall


its been wrung, far too many times now you see there is no going back there is only


this, ringing bell, ringing bell, wherefore art thou rose, she takes to looking four


twisting turns that spiral, turning left and right and left againe, left alone in the


hallway chasing visions endless visions endless dripping paint colours with more


the ringing bells the sound in shells like fireworks exploding all over everything


colours looming weaving in and out of each, dripping coloured drop to drip and


looking at thyself torn down from up above at the precipice end at each an end


drag the hideous dead body by the broken legs tripping at the worst of times to


the same portrait in ever frame a mirror againe and the mask is glaring the eyes


fall down the forbidden stairway, from the top, the bell rings, the bell that rings


ink drips dropping drip drop like dew dripping down the frost in every picture


the bell of all the bells, falling down to the cellar door from way way way too far


each skeleton hand nailed into the cross the chaplet in flames the manuscript lost


out a thousand stairs I reckon it twas from up above tried to count them all and


pulled along by the skeletons in the desert throws the sand bellows and whips


on every stair another mark from the last time the bells rang out, summoned from


body, fall, and in falling be found ever shackled to the mast of the ship being


the ground standing at the pinnacle somehow there are upsides to being found


the cellar door the sigil marked in blood from the pendulum swinging round


to then chase the beast up every stair dodging vintage obstacles and shadows


hissing as each snake unravels round the corpse still hanging from the ceiling


twisting turn the scene turning too twisted the spiraled posts, of the doorframe


blood it drips and drops in liquid coloured disarray of light the beam the shade


the ancient engravings the artists touch like liquid grooves from out of rocks


at once and the same the nail bitten snake bite into each wrist and from the


stone upon stone step she hops the beast feigns perplexities and crawling by


and by the beast she knows the beast the beast she is running to and from


the stream everything disappearing and reappearing and melting colours drip


barely hanging on by the thread of webbed death the spider wove and by


colours drop the portrait of a girl and from the hallway claws the reflection in


all swirling round the blackest smoke the hideous emptiness the naked throat


the turmoiled mirror to find what is hidden is an impossible task, task me not


the temple then floating headlong in spiraling dripping dropped drippy drops


no more a bitter woe, than to find what thou ist looking for would be to die in


opulence the shining crystal the heart of stone the mirrored face the mask in


evermore a dramatic throw the death pangs of poison tongues whipping from


ever on and on the dance the wicked spin the tale of romance the murderesque


snakes open mouthed revelation eyes in ever corner of the temple glow and


ever a reaching hand to a doorknob ever the fleeting instance of a moment


shadows move and structures grow from crooked stones in the patterned floor


by vintage dirt masks the olde visage hallways by deaths dripping drops of blood


beneath the rug the liquid stream the calming retrospective upon an idea that


and falling beneath the floorboards on the other side of the floor surrounded


digging deeper beneath the floorboard beneath the stone led back to an olden


ringing out in natures silent consonance ever bouncing off the walls the drips


door the handle locked the cellar candles blown out the wind takes to snapping


the rope and on the rope the wicked hands pulling again and again the bells


twigs by the stream The Beast has yet to break the consciousness from out of it


ghastly thing that rose, rose, red, red, rose, dripping dropping drips of colour


the ever moving relique the tangled roots the dead end tree enlightened by the


in every corner of every frame the webs of foreboding something gruesome some


flamed tail of the she beast as she begins to dance the wicked dance and takes


spider webs being threaded by spiders in the name of ancient death all mastery


to running up the stairs the tortured screams the gasping fall from down below


freedom from the trees ever towering over the hallways doom and dreaded step


sees oneself above just peeling over the precipice and motioning from the jump


opening doors that are supposed to stay closed there are no keys there is no


gets going dripping drops and dropping drips paint the canvas inverted frame


all the guest dripping blood drops from the ceiling onto the stone floor from


the mirror and break the casket the open door the rowing faster faster now the


runs empty from the tormenting scene turning from the horrific beast bowing


prints are made running down the vintage hallway twisting as the turning goes


beast tears at the face with claws tearing at the mask "was thou so lucky" bastard


on every wall on every nose of every portrait in all the repeating halls time in


night the stars align the glistening dewdrop caught in the corner of her eye she


dimensional lines all crossed and moving in rounds as every hallway takes again


dripping drops of dropping drips the paint is thick the plot thicker and black as


the angle of each stair beneath the towers arch, every stair the remembrance of


holy place the sepulchral the clinking clanging chains clinking clanging in the grave


one more step one more drop one more drip onto the cog of infinities whirling


through the desert wind the burning torch the beast is in here somewhere some


churning gears at each end another color another number separated by intellect


crashing ever upon the shoulders of the slave just dying to find a way through and


romanced into shifting face to touch each tip to every other space and mixing then


climb from the top to the bottom the bottom to the top against the sand in waves


the concoction all colours blend the mask within deep inside the hollow chest lighting


the hand the offensive ramble down the spiraling stairs twisting the mind the horrible


cracks the thunder in half out falls dripping drops of rain all coloured dropping drips


the windows peak the smashing glass the bleeding cheek "wast thou so lucky" break


of non-nonsensical bliss and reaching out the broken hands from tripping down the


blasts and violin weeps and strumming men with tumbling stones thrown from out


longest dance the dip and lift the secret kiss stolen from the manuscript, misses yet


turn to lift and step to lead and be led, the music of the ensembles strings cello


the point entirely and dagger in hand the clasps the dress the glass rings out from


and from below to rise again the deadest man the most honest hand to soar and


the tuning fork and spoon, the bells a vicious onslaughter, more vicious afternoon



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