...errrm, blame it on only having 3 hours sleep...hehehe....
...soft pulsing hum as skin itches red,
Cold Metal table yet I am not dead,
Been here before and here once again,
Know it well now and its still all the same.
Know the face of that man as he hides behind mirror,
The three seated decision-makers with skins of pale silver,
Know the long corridor and just where it leads,
Know their frail bodies and large bulbous heads.
Know the plan as it plays out before all,
Written eons ago this our last call,
Just plucking the strings and creating the dance,
Leaving some hope to hold on to chance.
But hope is not found in the fortunes of Man,
Not found in the secretive structures in sand,
Not found in the numbers scribed upon walls,
Not found here to be heard this our last call.
They come and they come and pour right on through,
Too late breathes the wind, too late me and you,
Wave of warriors with ashen pearled eyes,
Nothing to stop them, no place to hide.
Watch clouds says the whispers, watch them at night,
See them brief moments, see them in flight,
They move unseen to many, but not unseen to all,
'Cept those who witness this our last call.
We doubt our own power and we doubt His as well,
We create our own Heavens which dissolve into Hell,
We chase mirages of our making in search for the truth,
We thought 'thought' in itself would provide all the proof.
Distractions subtractions just slight of hand tricks,
Keep us all guessing and keep us perplexed,
Quieten the mind and hear it you shall,
The shallow hollow swallowing of this our last call....
Peace,
Agent Smith
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