Gregorian The Carpet Crawlers
There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
- gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping they'll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
There's no hiding in my memory.
There's no room to avoid.
The walls are painted in red ochre and are marked by
strange insignia, some looking like a bulls-eye, others
of birds and boats. Further down the corridor, he can
see some people; all kneeling. With broken sighs and
murmurs they struggle, in their slow motion to move
towards a wooden door at the end. Having seen only the
inanimate bodies in the Grand Parade of Lifeless
Packaging, Rael rushes to talk to them.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood
than before.
They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needle's eye is winking, closing in on the
poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."
"What's going on?" he cries to a muttering monk, who
conceals a yawn and replies "It's a long time yet
before the dawn." A sphinx-like crawler calls his name
saying "Don't ask him, the monk is drunk. Each one of
us is trying to reach the top of the stairs, a way out
will await us there." Not asking how he can move
freely, our hero goes boldly through the door. Behind a
table loaded with food, is a spiral staircase going up
into the ceiling.
There's only one direction in the faces that I see;
It's upward to the ceiling, where the chamber's said to
be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in
every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing they're
free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."
Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite,
And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their
bodies glowing
bright.
Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlelight;
It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of
sight.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."
The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears
attack.
The eager pack lift up their pitchers - they carry all
they lack.
The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through
the crack,
And the tickler takes his stickleback.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out
We've got to get in to get out."
