Children of the Wasteland

FUCK what’s real. We are the Universe;
A condom broken in the middle of starseed–
Channel that
Coming down all viscous light and acid-sound
The drums, the drums they speak of HORUS, rising
Every time you decide to live beyond your sacreligion,
Nature in a prison, carried-out, shook-up, piled up, waterboarded,
infected Malls of War, hospital beds–
Every time you decide to get out of your head.

FUCK what’s real. This place is a landing ground.
A place to be birthed from, not burned to the ground.
And if it’s true what they say, and the war comes,
I’ll see you on the train to the camps, the razor wire,
Pyres rising higher–find the answers in the fire in the third tower–
WHAT THE FUCK? How can this happen with such little time?
We just got a fax that his blood turned to wine
When Magdalene came–
Don’t forget that name.
She’s not too far down if you follow the game, like a chessmaster
I step into the Eye
of the North-South aligned Pyramid of the Sky and am squeezed–Deep–
Nothing sleeps eternal sleep.

FUCK what’s real. We are the Universe.
The Lotus-rocking Isis and Osirus, the twilight-sighing, lip-locked.
And you know, there’s snow in Atlantis.
And the signs are all around. Your mind is bound
but not gagged, trust me, you’ll be found.

If you FUCK what’s real.
And come in the mystery.