Killing Fields (Poetry to!)
Shall take you to a place where all dreams, ideas, and all things imaginary come to pass. I see them, they are wonderful, they are terrible, they are my thoughts and they lay down in the grass.
The Killing Fields, the death, the final, the rest that is finally recieved. The graves grow with the grass, eventually forgotten, no care, just forgotten, it is for the best certain ideas die here I believe.
It sounds cold but an evil i must do, to keep the dark ideas forming and bud good ones anew.
Some still have their use, but they need to be reaped, repurposed and remolded. They need to be tempered, tamed, and scolded.
I see new, I see old, I see warmth and I see cold
Its all in the head, the creativity i never wanna see dead.
But alas if it ever comes to pass, i must bid them adieu and watch them fade amongst the amber mass.
The Killing Fields its all so surreal.