Living is dangerous,
and death is the price we pay for our lives.
Life-death is the worst:
it is not just the flesh that quivers its last -
so too can the mind.
Shuttered in in office blocks
and bars in cheap hotels,
with whores and tramps in crowded rooms,
the mind blooms like a night flower
into its poisonous bed.
Life can get put on the backburner,
death can go to your head.
Movement gives the illusion of movement -
you move whilst standing still.
And pills can make you healthy
if shell or shill's your thrill.
Weapons are burned and dismantled,
but your silence still flays and kills.
Words are breaths of wonder;
silence makes all nill.
Yes, living can be dangerous -
extending out, pressing in like a blade.
And round the bend you'll find, my friend,
the headlights have you staid.
Death, great redeemer, great equaliser, black sun,
come not whilst I'm living -
dying's dangerous when your living's not done.