Tuesday, November 29, 2016

The Following Road

You ought not pursue me on the Following Road
It's a dark, risky journey and you might lose your load.
On the left lie's a bog that's hidden by mist,
it can swallow you whole, like you didn't exist.
On the right hangs a cliff with a bottomless fall
and it's kissed by a darkness that's 10 times as tall.
Up ahead there's a sharp, angled bend in the road
Where the dead nightmares wait
for those moving too slow.
You can never catch up on the Following Road,
it's a cipher in longhand from a monstrous code
that you don't want to learn, no, you don't want
to know.
In a tree dripping dew drops there's a warty black toad,
And its strange eyes will freeze blood, and your heart will
run cold,
and that toad speaks a language
that only dread knows,
and to hear it assures that your sanity folds.
Your soul will fall silent,
life fast becomes old,
in the night's empty spaces
on  the Following Road.
You can hear the dead screaming,
and the devils take flight,
and an angel who kills sounds an eerie dark chuckle,
and whispers a phrase as both your knees buckle;
it speaks with a tongue that smokes and sheds flame,
"on the Following Road, you've no one to blame,
just yourself and your yearning to
go home again."


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