High in Heaven;
Where the soul’s urge is to bleed,
There is situated a village;
Global in capacity,
But devoid of humanity.
Our gaze is steadily fixed
And burning and broken;
Never to be switched.
If ever a single tear were shed,
The hollowness and transparency
Would be thrown into captivity;
The bleakness would be dead.
Here, there is no love; there is no hope.
All is withered and still,
Suckling at the teat of despair.
Nothing can help you cope.
And when you have reached this dismal plane,
And when you learn to forget;
Remember this is the home of pain.
(We knock on Heaven’s door
Like we’re hitting a wall with our shame).
It is here that you’ll someday arrive;
Fall into Heaven, there’s no point wishing you were alive.
When the pressure becomes too potent,
Let society be your vitriolic ocean.
They’ll buy your dreams and sell you love;
Stab you in the back and give you a shove.
Teetering on the edge of existence,
Fail not to give into your soul’s resistance.
They can see your weakness; you reveal it
With vanity, self-worry, crumbling pride.
Knock at this door when you realize that
To them, you’re but only a stain,
And that you have found the home of pain.
(The dreams inside our head fall to
The floor like mud, our tears are like rain).