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Prisoner Of Conscience

from Seisin by J Alfred Prufrock

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lyrics

Encased in bone, some shit you’ve got to face alone. He may thrive here, but this place ain’t home. Survive off of pace and tone and the grace of escaping slow. White Apples and the Taste of Stone. He loves the moon when its light seems to make her glow from within, turning into a patient snow covering the hand planted trees which rise from the dirt like fantasies, unsure of themselves and their chance to be something more than appreciated fancifully in passing; but they’re still asking for a second glance through a crack in a handsome floor. Answers bore, yes, but these questions coax; caught in between the frame of the exit door. No Banksy, but see wealth as perplexing or at least vexing. He is not connecting. He is separate, trying to be dialectic yet disaffected. Resurrect like death is not the final breath. Tie regrets in a knot around a box of violence. Violet colors of veins, just brains in cages. The sky opens wide for the rain of ages.

credits

from Seisin, released March 8, 2013

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J Alfred Prufrock Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

contact: cruelestapril@gmail.com

***I have no formal relation to Thomas Stearns***

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