Beyond - Razorblades And Rainbows

[Saint]

Razorblades And Rainbows posted on RF early 2008

The razor’s edge is of a stainless lead…
With the anguish, dread succumbing to the stranger’s pledge.
It’s the angered dead that arise to the sanguine red.
The painted shed of the backyard with grains that shed.
And descend to the underworld with a pain that bled.
While Cain is led through the process of breakin’ bread.
A shameful bred race if the aim is well-placed.
The angst and stale hate rotate and trailblaze.
The pathway seperates creating extra lakes.
In the pavement, fail-safe to the ancient tailgates.
It’s the Raiden male fate of the next debate.
While the contessa’s praise is sprayed in Hell’s cave.
You better get your cane and pale grave..
Remove the countryside slumber mines.
And run in hide on the underside from one to five.
The rainbows of the hundred wise touch the sky.
Before doves can fly - and the colors COME ALIVE.
Come to life, live happily ever after in the summer time.
The End isn’t just words on the screen - it’s the otherside.
The side of the past, the fallen, and ghost.
The side where they cast a Gollum in cloak,
And where Casper calls on his folks.
You’re with us now. The sharp infamy, that cuts deep.
The entity that must weep and enemy that just bleeds.
Enter, breathe, and touch deep the ashes of the graced.
The passion of the rave and the lashes on the slave.
Cassius on display in a casket on the way..
To the masses gone decayed and the has-beens of today.
You better watch yourself and look at the Earth shatter.
The Earth matter that creates the world’s matter.
It’s the sight for sore eyes that invites the tour guide.
The harbinger of death that ignites the torchlights.
Let it burn, let it burn.. let the fires spread rampant.
And the ire get static while the vampire dregs panic.
The solstice coin breaches the battlement’s armory.
While the cattle in harmony march on the Chateaux of Carnegie.
The battle and army siege while the travelers start to leave.
And the rabble imparts a cleave on the clavicle artery.
The shadow of jargon reeks in the castle of chartered speech.
It’s not a matter of harmin’ me when your lance isn’t armed or sheathed.
Look at the big picture, the thick mixture of solvent.
The switch-hitter and the quick pitcher’s involvement.
Do you get it now, or do I need to get Hitler to solve it?
It’s life. It’s death. It’s the ditch withered beyond it.
This is what makes us who we are, the dark that binds us.
The spark inside us, and the mark of Titus.
We embark the tidals of the sea in search for isles on the beach.
And the islands on the reefs while the Myans lie beneath.
It’s the wasteland of the wasteband with saber made from angels.
This is the cradle of a day old - the world of razorblades and rainbows.