Hell, I'd slice Apollo.
Those fateful minutes, those sharp, cruel ticks of the
little god of time, when it's too early to wake up, yet too
late to love the mercy of the night...
Drugged by unworthy, loathed hope to the bathroom, washing
my flesh and teeth away, off me. Cleansing my tortured self,
whitening my pain, preparing the vacummed being for the
miracles of a brand new day.
On this nightmarish, mesmerized act, the water seems like my
drained up blood, that strange liquid that's driving mad in
my veins, streaming like an old fish, swimming with neither
the will to carry on, nor the strength to surrender.
Eyes red, body all bruised from my brain extorts of
yesterday, I'm too wicked to go through another daylight.
In this psychotic mind of mine, life seems easier to live
'em up, coiled like a little rubberball in their giant black
lair.

Clouds drift by with ease, slow hearses parading through my
soul, promising of light and glory of the unborn night.
Birds sing their indifferent chatter of truth and betrayal,
praising the dirt of creation. When looking out the window,
I can tell about the world outside, one that never knew
solace before. And yet, the old, exhausted axis still
carries on this big mass of troubles, people and sins.

My darkness, pacified by this savage light, and suddenly I
recall another black, a more earthly one, the which all
mortals confront in their silly everyday struggles.. The
black deposit inside my yesterday's cup of coffee...

... And once again, I am disposable.