Can You Hear Me Dead Man
If I call will your ears still catch my words?
If I yell to the wind will you hear my crying?
If I keep you in mind will you still feel my feeling?
If I push my hands to the earth can I feel your touch?
For are you skeletal sitting in the earth,
Waiting for my call to give you rebirth,
Can I call to those before even without their name?
Can I give them respect that in life never came?
Can I do anything without looking insane?
For have we lead ourselves to a world that’s far from tame?
Where the wild held our fears before humans now stand in state,
Can I whisper life back to you?
Playing the runes game,
Can I peer the veil to assume your natural state?
Can I feel your problems and hear the pull within?
Or am I just playing a flavor to a game inside my brain?
At the end you’ll stand in front of me like a pulse,
The feeling you gave me back when your body was full,
The mind creates the realm for those from before,
And as the dark whispers to me I can hear your roaring bull,
I am just the one to listen to what you said for me to see,
But still calling out Dead man can you hear me?
I will give respect to the two kings,
When one is pushing his green heart explodes with life,
And when the other plays the living think they know strife,
Yet can the feeling be really all inside,
Or to outer force does my brain hide,
I hear the voice from a lady far behind,
Who was simply trying to give others power through insight,
Yet a villain they sing her though experience she gave birth,
And truth through all experience is true spiritual worth,
The patterns became too important to the play,
And not what inside the ritual was really made for us to say,
For that is why we feel a pull when acting out ritual rite,
For even if no outer effect it pulls at what is inside,
And then like alchemists we hear the true search,
Like a depressed man finding mirth,
Then are we seekers of pattern or the finders of what was there,
The smartest attribute is simply noticing how to play beyond fear,
The boat ceremonies of the past and the cult of the bull,
Were ritual to dodge the catastrophes brought by our world,
Yet we always played ourselves at the top which is how even in the past the meanings were lost,
So let us reach back to where the rituals began,
In dance and ecstasy and connection to the land,
To plants that gave helping hand,
For we can then grab back the visions from the source,
The lady at the back of mind who gives your life force,
The truth of Shiva’s corpse as nothing without Kali’s power to course,
For we are nothing but a mental state without the material world,
And the thinkers in dream lost that both are true,
Not some heaven to be found but a truth from youth,
That life is a play from which we all learn,
Sitting still you hear the actual truths unfurl,
Yet running around we lose all that is in front,
Like an hourglass our reality plays its course,
And as the sand slips away we will next be the one,
Being called to with words,
Hearing cries on the wind,
Catching thoughts of those we left,
Feeling hands reach for the dead,
Can you hear me Dead man?
Yes of course,
But we will only speak outside your mind when you return to our source…
Have you felt the touch of the real lord of lords?
Have you felt the glow from the dark?
Have you found in death answers must be sought?
Have you felt the touch of the Forest?
The touch of the quiet Plains?
Where the end of life plays minds game?
Have you felt the kiss of the lady?
Have you watched them appearing after the rains impregnation?
Have you heard their voice like a shutter of the dead?
Have you felt the touch of the land?
Have you realized they shape the land we take from?
Have you felt them give you vascular and structural form?
Splitting from our ancestor millions of years before…
One point eight million years of different yet similar form…
From which the rest of life springs forth…
Like neural nets they give brain to world…
Give mind to the land and all its forms…
Have you learned the secrets of when we die?
Have you received the words trapped inside?
Are you still afraid of what lies beyond?
Or do you hear the voice from those before as they say fight on?
I wish that language comes to minds,
And gives birth to a new era of life,
With a passion for this blessed place,
Where rot brings life and death brings chase,
To an idea of giving humans wings,
Flying over lands only met in our brains,
So do you feel the fungal reign?
The fungal lords and their game?
Do you hear something beyond our touch?
For they built the other we try to clutch…
And gave saviors to hold dear when men lost much…
Let the hermits wander the woods,
Let me lead my path to the land once more,
And fear not their power over my body but grasp the illusion was only our story,
When thousands of other lived about and we chose to dominate and ignore…
And reach back to a life where religions were born…
But no longer punish actions people can’t adore,
We are all the children of thought,
Then ask if it was created consuming the rot...
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