Inspiration from Perfect Life by Steven Wilson.
I’ve finally found you, my queen
Tie me up so I don’t try to leave
Lead me to your dungeons below
Occlude me from the Sun’s glow.
I know I shouldn’t be here
I couldn’t swim against the current
So lost in the undertow I was
Your siren song was my only lighthouse.
I watch you wear your armor
As you deprive me of mine
The wrinkles of leather against your perfect curves
Enlighten some energy into numbest nerves.
Interrogate me and question what I am
I daren’t lie nor hide for
The electric hands on my chest
“Your whimpers will make the perfect intro.”
I know I should probably leave but
Our eyes have us bound like a rope
Queen, you’re my only escape
I hope that you can reciprocate.
A sadistic song from the gramophone
Goddess, you have two heads and four hands
I try to synchronize to your sway
As you choose an instrument from your tray.
Tie me up to the chair
Tighten the straps till I’m pale
Nail me down to the bed
Keep pumping till I’m light in the head.
Liberate me of my vision
Stiffen up my remaining senses
Inject your secrets, pierce my skin
Punish me Goddess, for I have sinned.
I’m caged, so I won’t complain
I’m enjoying this too much to object
I’m defenseless, make your move
Oh Queen, I bow only to you.
I can’t keep up with your tantalizing tease
Scold me for every failed attempt
Whisper with the smoke in my ear
And let me feel your cigarette’s sear.
Let the blood flow, let the salt flow
Leave me hanging from the edge
Deny me the permission to relapse
You can be the cause of my collapse.
I can feel the scorch of your smile from beneath the blindfold
Your sharp words dig deeper
Whip me till I’m tame
“Your screams make the perfect interlude.”
Brand me a slave, oh alpha apsara
So I can always be yours
I’m exposed on this side, pick up the iron
Oh mistress, I answer only to you.
I dance to your throbbing tune of dominance
Don’t hold back, let it dissipate
Impose your will, compose the end
“Your sigh will make the perfect outro.”
. . . . . . . .
Waking up from a withdrawl
Why did you leave me in the dark?
A new set of scars to hide from my mother
What did you do to me?
I can feel it in my veins
An unfeeling urge for another dose
I can’t salvage enough satisfaction
Should I come looking for you?
Or should I just wait?
Either way, I’ll fade away
But I’d rather let you take me apart
Just say my name and claim my heart
Oh, my mistress, I’d die only for you.
Inspiration from Every Home Is Wired and Radioactive Toy by Porcupine Tree.
The alarm shock wave wakes me
I thought I saw my wife but no
The chip in my brain activates
Invisible strings get me on my feet.
In the shower, I recall last night’s dream
Wasn’t sweet, nor a nightmare
Instead, a timetable of today’s routine
My cortex in a cage, lump in throat.
A set of prison clothes
And the tatters of my wife’s scarf
(The only thing that I managed to salvage)
What color should I wear: black or white?
I let the electronics elect.
The cold breakfast is a little bitter
The pack reads “Amber Waffles” but
My tongue screams amphetamines
A curse in my mouth, lump in throat.
I almost say “Honey, I’m off to work!”
Before remembering that I live alone
In the company of spiders of course
Because every wall is bugged.
The winter air is a little dusty
The signs say it’s pure but
My lungs somehow don’t agree
A weight in my chest, lump in throat.
I see the arrest (assault) of an abberrant
My emotional overrides force a smile
“Don’t worry, we can be pals
After your lobotomy.”
My ears glitch to hear a cricket’s tune
Pardon me, it was only my Geiger
A virus called nostalgia just quarantined (quelled)
A song stuck, lump in throat.
A queue (quarrel) for a solitary ray of sun
We lost the ozone skyline but
We have the blinds of mushroom clouds
That’s the government’s explanation (excuse).
The city looks so different from a distance
Factories as far as the fog (smog) goes
There’s no room for your castles
Imagination ignored, lump in throat.
I enter the hive
An interwoven web of zombies
A conveyor belt of babies
My labor is to label them for life.
Slave, Soldier and Sadist to the terminal
Musician, Marxist and Mother to the trash
Programmers hardwire their new future
Conscience on the collapse, lump in throat.
I almost say “Honey I’m back!”
Before remembering the raid
By the courtesy of snakes of course
Because every house was wiped.
Suddenly, the sofa’s a gurney
Heading to the TV for my
Recreative cranial reformative surgery
The signals are the scalpels
Avant-garde music is the anesthesia.
I break free from the straps
Security on red alert
All the filters and the barriers bypassed
I’m taken back at least 30 years.
I stumble to my wardrobe
There lie the tatters of my wife’s scarf
(The only thing that managed to bear the ravage)
Only it deserves to become my noose
My heart in my throat, a lump in my throat.
Honey, I’m finally coming to you
Prepare the kids to brace for a surprise
Your voice is fading in and out of focus
Just hit the killswitch
Hanna, just pull the plug please.
. . . . .
The defibrillator shock wave wakes me
I thought I saw my wife but no
The failsafe in my brain had kicked in
I should’ve known that
Every brain is wired.