I don’t like the code, but the code likes me.
Under the sun of a lesser god, We drink and feast in the bounty that is pain. And we toast to the sky; A vision that is more lonely than I. And there’s a glow, in the palace of embers, that sings softly your name. And there’s a light, in the truth of forever, that whispers softly for the same. On a whim and desperation, We split the impetus and lethargy of hope. And we dream of a lie; That is more weary than I. And some grace, Like the triumph of none; Splashes a memory, A feeling so numb. And some fool, Like a blessing of none; Resurrects a martyr, A champion so dumb. And in a sanctity we blessed you down, Counting the sleep like some gray night. Like limpid pools of melting thought, Training us through our plight. And there’s a dream, in the countess of insanity, that traces back to me. And there’s a cry, in the thought of nowhere, that never wants to be. In the vagueness of eternity, We stroked the filaments of resignation. And we wait for a cry, A whisper that is more empty than I.