Woorden: Saint Vitus. Mournful Cries. Bitter Truth.

I knew a man, I 'm proud to say
But he couldn't live in a world he couldn't see


Hidden patterns genetic mold


The laws of life, it 's ways are cold


No one seemed to know for sure

A knowing look of falling to death 's door

Living unreal, time is to steal


Booking passage on a journey unknown

Blackened veins of nihilistic sadness


A painted mask substance induced gladness
With a spike or from a bottle




Tiny cartoon pictures on a square of paper blotter


He was a man, was fear's machine
Sickness don't fail, don't succumb to self-esteem


Unseen vessel, undreamed flight

No one knows if you were wrong or if you were right

R.I.P. H.B.



[Dedicated to Dough (H.B.) Caldwell - R.I.P.]