Black Moon

Lilith approaches She's got the key to my dreams My red moon becomes black Maybe the world ends today Because that's my destiny Chosen by me I see now the weight of my choices I could have end It all I could have tried to change things and raise apocalypse Again, again and again I could have hidden and be suffering forever I could let the world go on without me But there She was the pale white rose Such was my grief because I was her dream She knew It, father knew It, the world knew It And You're reading with me: I red much things as They are and studied everything I had to be better of anyone else 'cause my intelligence eclipsed the others No one was able to become a god, so I made the choice I became It So I looked into the logical relations of things and analysed The processes which shaped reality and dreams Every wonder of life had gone away Life is only a set of pictures in the mind There's no difference between reality and dreams One is the other, eternally Yet custom induces a superstitious reverence for that which phisically exists Making us ashamed of our fantasies So that We forget that the deeds of reality are just as insane and childish and Even more absurd because their actors persist In fancying them full of meaning and purpose As the blind cosmos grinds aimlessy On from nothing to something and from something back to nothing again Neither heeding or knowing of the minds that light sparks in the dark We manage to see how shallow, fickle and meaningless all human inspirations are How emptily our real impulses contrast with those pompous ideals We profess to hold But We're used to recourse to our polite laughter Against the artificiality, boring and suffocating daily life But still remains the beauty that lies in harmony, and suddenly You know that all It's fruits of perspective That harmony is the mother of fulfillment and has no life in the empty cosmos But in the dreams We crave so much, if We do not lose the way She is the key, the fantasy of a child who wants to become a dragon The arms of his poor loving father And in the feelings given with a pale rose