Lion of Light

The Ever Dangling Carrot

and so came the moon and went the sun somewhere in the waxing and waning of all the oceans ebbing then growing towards those backwards countries and their opposite shores at the smallest tick-tockings we ever managed the concocting of, and that’s where we find It: in waiting, playing the ever dangling carrot cake is often for birthdays frosted, like everything come moments of winter when every miracle finds someone surprised and smiling, smiling for formerly forsaken dreams revived the dreamer never dies The Dreamer never dies still, lives are wasted every day expensive funerals fifty years in the making in the spending a blink of their, of our eternity lost in wishing then pretending the famous never dies The Famous never dies yet, one day when sleep takes hold we’ll wake as babies in a womb and never know we’d just forgotten how our tombstone was even more common and unimportant than we’d ever feared but somehow we won’t sob no, we won’t care, nor sing the blues for the dead man never dies the dead man never dies but many have been said to.
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