Between the folds of dusk and dawn exists a moment, a brief flicker in the candle of the Universe as we are weighed and measured for our worth. Shall we dream or die tonight? Will our light shine and rise with the sun, or will the monsters in the throat of the basement overcome us and steal our breath like cats crouched in the cradle? Will visions of dying play in the theater of the mind as we sleep, the dusty lens bringing forth that which we keep hidden? Will a fall from the tower dash us to the ground below or sweep us flying through the attic window like wingless birds?
We see the stairway of atonement, yet we are unable to climb.
Stolen candy at 6.
A hurtful word at 9.
Anger unbound at 15.
Godless indulgence at 40.
The movie plays on to our horror. No absolution in the night; only a pointed bleach bone finger; bruising, stabbing, accusing.
Below in the dark catacombs lies the truth, chained by will and empty denial. The basement is haunted by doubt, burned by hatred, scarred by bitter self-infliction. Decisions made during the warmth of day haunt us in our nightmares, and the movie plays on while our lidless eyes gleam dry and brittle at our horrors.
Wounds, open and festering, sting with alkaline truth in the rooms below; a sulfurous atonement. And in the blackness the candle flickers, then glows bright, and we are given another day, another opportunity. Shall we sigh with dawn's relief and leave the warnings unheeded, waiting for the night to come and measure us again?
We see the stairway of atonement, yet we are unable to climb.
Stolen candy at 6.
A hurtful word at 9.
Anger unbound at 15.
Godless indulgence at 40.
The movie plays on to our horror. No absolution in the night; only a pointed bleach bone finger; bruising, stabbing, accusing.
Below in the dark catacombs lies the truth, chained by will and empty denial. The basement is haunted by doubt, burned by hatred, scarred by bitter self-infliction. Decisions made during the warmth of day haunt us in our nightmares, and the movie plays on while our lidless eyes gleam dry and brittle at our horrors.
Wounds, open and festering, sting with alkaline truth in the rooms below; a sulfurous atonement. And in the blackness the candle flickers, then glows bright, and we are given another day, another opportunity. Shall we sigh with dawn's relief and leave the warnings unheeded, waiting for the night to come and measure us again?
And in the night in that place before dusk... a flicker in the candle of the Universe is felt.
Design by Tela Noctu "Aspectus" Copyright © 2005 The Corridors All Rights Reserved. Music by Midnight Syndicate Used with permission