Empty Frames

Picture this A belief dressed in gold The carving of the finest wood Kept together with the golden dublet Rotten to the pith The pith on which you feed The struggle Destroying the emptiness we framed Empty frames A vision of the truth Covered with the sound of a scream The emptiness on which they feed The balance you walk The matter of life and live Still building empty frames The frames on which you feed Making them everlasting Frames you can hide beneath The point of contact You showed the deceived Yes I want to rip your skin To suck the juice From your exposed body My goal To paint you between the sticks You have strained Like an ever changing motive It seems so clear Like the black wet paint on the canvas Your conduct of life