Le Moulin à Vent au Carrefour Bhemins [Part 1]

by Emmit Other

A Serpent in the Garden
A blight upon the land
Time is running backwards
Cursed darkening sand
The astral is now tearing
The links between the worlds
Calls forth a summoning
In the marshalling of words
The pawns are prisms
That filter ether and stars up in the sky
They filter through the symbols
And barely wonder why
The eye of a maelstrom
Of symbols old and new
The fighters know their battle
Their consequences knew
And know and will know
Of battles yet to come
The culture is the thing that matters
The total and the sum
Of all we are and who we are
The spirit of the dove
Or lash and whip and acid
A boot stomping down from above.
The windmill turns
And turns
And turned
Turning turning turn
This is not the starting
Of the lovers on the urn
For half a hundred years
And a full hundred more
The windmill has been fighting
To keep our hearts still pure.
Truth
Beauty
Freedom
Love
These are the things written in stone
Bound behind the plaster of Paris
Like Norse Runes casting the wisdom of Odin
On all those who can see beyond
The Jiggle and the Wiggle and The Kick
So High
Together
Turn Together Now
Look in her eye
See his smile
Nowhere else has it been safe
This fight against the glacier
The ice of change
The cold of death
The rage against the very fire of the universe itself
Madness against reason
Passion with out truth
The uniquivicol lie
Inept in its execution
Unmerciful in its understanding
Contrived in the bands
The bands of death at the ticking bomb of a wasted life
The bands of puritan steel locking up a woman's flesh
Simply because it makes you think thoughts you were meant to think
The unnatural turning back of time itself
To eras of ignorance and racist bile you claim as nostalgia
This is it
This is Ground Zero
The continual assault against all that the fires of Ignorance would burn
Turning turning turning
The windmill turns
It turns and there is an unseen fight
The serpent rears its ugly head
And it is Ignorance
From shadows echos it waits
And is seen
For this time the Angel of Death waits
And there is no fall
No fall but Ascension
And enlightenment worthy of Zen
And time cycles round
As does the windmill
And the thing that was meant to be
Will be
And has been
And of course always will be
Turn windmill
Turn and turn again
Turn forever more.