The Quiet House

This is home away from noise And light boxes Photographs on fiber clay Only heat from open flame And pure sunlight It heats the core The junkies play with their toys That burn their eyes and give them joy And steals their freedom Their prison cells So disconnect from the human race Dying off without a trace Kill your pictures Douse them in flames You never existed You never lived Chaos spawns when things are still And cannot have their fill What a waste