World TravellerWORLD TRAVELERAnd so I come to the end of my road,And look beyond,Into a tunnel that fades into cool gray fogSparkling in the mist the wraiths of multicolored blackFragments of a magic that encircles allLife and Death and Spirit and all the worlds Inconceivable to man…Barren worlds of windswept stoneWhere visceral consciousness wanders in the windAnd lush planes where enchantment grows along the groundFloats upon the air, and lingers, content among the voices of silver gods of song and airthat weave, timeless, into the seers soul.Where gentle currents lift them up and bearthe skeptic into awe and wonder.
Death of the MachineD e a t h o f t h e M a c h i n eT h e w i n d s h r i e k s A w a l l o f s o u n d , p a s tO l d g e n e r a t o r s , r u s t y b r o k e n c r a n e s - P u r p o s e l e s s d y s f u n c t i o n I t s o b j e c t i v e h a s b e e n s c r a m b l e d I n w i r y e n t r a i l s t a n g l e d , s p i l l e d o u t O n t h e g r o u n d . C r e a k i n g h o o k s s w a y i n t h e n i g h t D r i p h a r m l e s s s h a d o w s L i k e r u s t e d t e a r t r a c k s W o r n w i t h a g e . R e l a x , i t c a n ' t h u r t y o u a
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