Stan Is Lowe

As lucid in action as falling from a structure We're trapped in corners, spread out like a web Time is nothing flooded into darkness Silence in grips, nowhere to land Running in circles, losing direction Principal theories outline the edge Everything is all opened up wide and red... stinking Stanislowe There are no waves in my dreams There's no place to be Residents disfigured lying in aisles, in the clutches And I do see it all the time Yes I do see it Then bad ambitions for the free world change shapes Another empire crumbles into ashes A classic struggle between the masses An ending with none