I strolled among the treehouses in the devil's garden

I strolled among the treehouses
in the devil's garden.
You talked death so much, so often,
you lost your ways.

Under cover of furtive eyelids,
spying on those who were stronger that you
(it's so hard to suffer poor fools like you).
The ruby blood of youth,
and the pale envy that came rushing in.

Grey skies.
Red earth.
Moon blue in the solar afterglow.

It was then I realized I had forgotten
all prayers, but, well,
not that they made much sense back then.

Saw them crusaders,
puking on the road side.
Pools of sweat in the latitudes of dust.

Remains of my self,
unfit channel for a fertile dream.
Here I lie, devoid of love and the stains of life,
like a starched clean sheet.
Sweating in my indolence,
I wondered how to craft the right life.

Ungrateful little shit,
with your siege mentality,
let go off my marble torso
(your butter hands).

Trivial, irrelevant,
who the hell waits for another day
in this station that was granted?

Healing stones?
Get the fuck outta here.
Ashen dreams and frogs in our throats.
Golden beckonings,
fuckin' hot in here, baby
(yeah, that's why they folks call it summer)

My head felt toast (not toasted),
pure thoughts left behind
in the earthen trails that brought me here.

Get behind the Wheel.
Escape.