Dark, Black Dahlia

Going beyond the Machine,
A spoonfull of rotten cloth,
Hanging from the hangman's rope,
Obliterated my hope of discontinuous speech.
And enabled another try
At the tomorrow's lottery happiness prize,
The absurd prize of the neverendig restlessness.

Today I bought a Dahlia,
A Black and most perfect Dahlia,
To be offered to the grimmreapper,
At the time of my demise,
When the joyous unicorns,
The perfect, wonderfull and most joyous unicorns,
Appear, magnificent in their crying eyes,
And addopt me as one of their own,
Upliffting my deceased body into the Cosmos,
Where I'l be reborn as a dream of joy and illusion.

Although the reborn I shall be carefree and helplessly breathable,
The vibration of your lips shal remind me
Of what it used to be a sheetpaper,
Where the notes, those pretensious pederasts,
Could freely flow through your body of cristal,
And forever you'd remind them
As the beggining of Humankind's fall from Paradise,
A lost Paradise of love and snowflakes,
Destined to perish at the hands of time,
That destroyer of worlds and hopes.