a lazy actor i forget my lines

we run through the whole thing again

the action drifting from cave to cave saved in their drives

i can’t be bothered watching the playback of flaring green sea

as i swim forever or someone swimming whos supposed to be me

another whirlpool to negotiate its vortex

another isle of monkeys and spirits and voices

as i loose myself from my bounds

angered gods hurl plagues to the ground

as i stand in the prow of my black beaked trireme

and something seems to rise from the turbulence

we only see the mens faces suddenly deprived of innocence

no one could survive it but somehow i get alive out of the bed

i see they have added some shadows to my shattered ship in sanguine red

i wept for my crew prepped to be dead

i slept at the shoreline a stone at my head

i am brought into the city under the mountain in clouds

the camera zooms in on rooms of byzantine opulently reflected

in jewelled statue eyes in moving marble

intercut with a desert i am wandering through

i must be hallucinating because of a cursed thirst

we are made to understand the sea and the desert and the sun and air

these four elements hostile to man in of themselves

i seem to plunge through the dunes and walk upon the nimbus

in double exposures over lapping stills representing memories

a child in a coloured garden painted on a pencil box

with your sisters in the afterlife glowing

the windscreen smeared with rain a memory of a coast

the sun was still young and golden then

i guess thats represented in the aura filter everything will go through

there is some incident which is unclear even to me standing here

some thing is omitted from the cut but i cant tell what

a feeling of sinking or drowning will have the sailors frowning

the witches and their tricks are here rendered horrific and sick up

is it too much that i am beaten nearly eaten only fame to sweeten the deal

as the timbers of my cabin groan i hear the mermaid moan on the rocks

as the waves enter my cabin the throbbing cracking shoals rip holes in the hulls

on island afternoon superimposed over the stars and the moon i croon the theme

the loveliest words remaining unheard of until found in an undersea city

reedy dirge of priestesses in processions in the holy fog of february

the songs of an admiral gone missing a mystery

some ideas that were around for years but still nobody ever hears them

the music banged out on skinned drums with biblical trumpets and thunder

designed to kind of fill the enemy with wonder

anchored off the tropical banks owned by the potentate reinstated

moored by the shores of some ancient old hell

the cold fires of tartarus bring a brim stoner smell

in the underworlds the girls immune to any charms these dim ghosts

and here the music is a mournful horn full of b minor asia

a violin is almost detuned as it swooned out of audible range strange erasure

i am set some task i shouldnt ask it will be undoubtedly impossibe

some angry king or presidente asking something fucking stupid and improbable

i escape as usual with the help of my patron demon or saint

at this point a painted androgynous visage appears in montage

a face full of superior angles and planes recurring again and again

why his eyes are the colour of the skies and a mortals goodbyes

tears well up like a shell up to the ear containing an ocean

we are left forever hanging in a harbour

where i seem to walk through the coolest arbour

and from a distance

everything seems to shimmer

just before

the twilight will grow gradually fragilely dimmer