Based on an original concept by and dedicated to my beloved Enigma In Words, Cam Wylde. You are thoroughly adored Sister.


– greykeeper –



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Shiva In Exile “Earth Tone”





We are Tribe
One big Trojan explosion that won’t be denied
Just a drop in the ocean as deep as it’s wide
United we rise like a fierce crimson tide as we venture some way out of sight


There is truth in our eyes
We have conclusive proof that the system it lies
Sneaks up on our blind side, depriving us oxygen
Pumps us with toxins inviting the blight while we’re gradually massively dying inside


Have our ticket to ride
Regardless of whether our payments decline
Signed, sealed, delivered from evil surrounding us
Pounding us senseless with unmentionables of all kinds


If only they knew what it is we comprise
If only they knew that we threw the last fight for a reason
If only they knew we are midway through season, increasingly ravenous, industry cavernous, indiscreet scavengers ravaging both day and night


Creatures of habit that grab every actual fact they retract as they slacken the blinds and black out
Tell us there’s simply no time to back out, that we’re in for duration and well out of favor with shouts


Prone to outbursts of unruly behavior, we’re truly the thorn in their side
Pawning their scorn for way more than market price
Knowing of the going rate for mental porn and suchlike prizes


Rising from ashes with dust in our lashes
We tribespeople actually catch a rough ride
Nobody mention the Jonestown Massacre, that was a travesty, happened one time
Besides, we’re all out of Kool-Aid inviting, the punch bowl is running most frightfully dry


That’s what the rivers are for
That’s where we’re ever adored
That’s where the door in the floor is no ceiling, revealing the feeling that sense is returning
That fortunes are turning, precautions deferred as the word on the street is it knows it is beat


Lessons are learned every time we decide upon flirting with keyboards to fuck qwerty dirty
Hurting for infinite wisdom through diction
Factually speaking we’re practically fiction
Actioned realities, long since sanctioned from fantasy, less there be finders fees paid


It’s a fucking masquerade, the most played out contradiction
As they’re dancing us directly to our own shallow graves
Haven’t entertained that we may cast the shade of braves
For all we have endured, we could be firing on all pistons


Forming resistance to bullshit persistently frisking and fisting deep thinkers, enlisting our blinkers
Swimming while no longer sinking, we drink in intelligence, make it self-evident
Set some soft goals then go better them like veterans
And if that makes us a cult
Well, guess that makes us method then


Sometimes were velociraptors
Others pterodactyl
Sometimes we’re Jurassic
Others passive as a tax bill
Actioning a faction done to death and back of slackening
Blackening our eyes at their inaction


Lovers though, not fighters
That’s the key to winning battles
Besides, it’s ten below and way too scandalously cold for swords and sandals
Vandal hearts can poke their token clauses
Rebel hearts build ramparts and call arms for more charmed causes


We are Tribe
A better tomorrow that won’t be denied us
The river is infinite, deep as it’s wide
And united we rise like a Phoenix in flight as we migrate some way out of sight





Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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