This is my story, my telling.
It was a Monday morning
in a time that never existed.
In a past that was fictional
until it was revealed as a plot
writing by a man-made ghost-writer,
nevertheless it became this yesterday,
this legend told to a child.
Even though Mondays keep turning up
as regular as clock-work hamsters,
or as wheel walking somnambulists
all those faceless namesakes
called forth by a light-eating moon.
Even though that particular page
in a fading paperback was not recorded
but only jotted down on a slice of burnt toast
at the time,
it happened just as I say it deed.
I was ten or sometime after.
I was late for school,
I was running uphill
knowing I would get a detention slip
and then I stopped
and walked into an open field
knowing I was nobodies problem.
I left town following a disused railway track
and never turned back
but then I must have
because the following week
Monday returned like a wet dog
coming in from the rain.
And that is that
except it's all very hazy,
however the day after Sunday
keeps returning now
to haunt my disappearing footsteps.
The piercing stars glow such a gentle white
Allure, composed by purely nature’s wit
Attend to melodies of sacred night
The hillside yonder is forlornly bright
Fragments of sleeping heavens snugly fit
The piercing stars glow such a gentle white
A milky storm of conflagration flight
No winsome sweet reality does sit
Attend to melodies of sacred night
In evanescence they name deep twilight
Dimmest strings and erratic dreams are knit
The piercing stars glow such a gentle white
A pitch as deep as a medieval knight
The crooning echoes are softly moonlit
Attend to melodies of sacred night
Nyx is singing sweetly a softest slight
Somnambulists are silenced bit by bit
The piercing stars glow such a gentle white
Attend to melodies of sacred night
god, made in mans illusion
our egocentric minds create
deities of grand delusion
or of demonizing enemies
up before we find our cause
totalitarian reign of gods
or democratic masochists
finding naught but disappointment
together bound somnambulists
heretical self rightousness
ever bring faithful relief
machinations or delusions
always shifting to belief
crusading fanatics, blindly follow
him with nothing more to gain
i have forsaken you
never to find faith again
every time we need a monster