Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Ask iAN * No Name

Ask iAN

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Ask iAN * No Name


Where are we going?
I dunno...
What are we lookin' for?
A Life never ending...
A way to raise the dead and heal the sick
An end to tyranny
An understanding in the age of modern discourse
Salvation...and someone to wash away our tears, to heal the horses of war and to heal our eyes
and all the waste they have witnessed
We live on a globe in space...our passports take us into unfamiliar ports...we collide with other lives
as we are losing our existence by the minute...we eat flowers with our eyes,
pour out our hearts like liquefied hurt into a kiss
we've been kicked around so long that everytime something soft comes into our life, we distrust it
like a viper or treat it like a trashcan...and how many more miles and ruined smiles until we are
eternal but with breath you can witness on the very snowy air?
Don't hold your breath...

On some nights we are lucky to walk the late hours with friends that make us feel soft...and then it's back to the
infirmary and the grandfather clock mocking our sleepless hours...the sands of time, the war in Heaven, the dumb death, the violence so frivolous, the clockwork of poor on poor gouging...the inane streets where nobody wants to watch where their feet are walking...these dirty streets..without birds of paradise, without the fragrance of something sacred, without something Holy...just petrol fumes chewing at our lowered streetlight powdered eyelids...

No rescue
no remedy
no bones jumping up from the graves and no radiance of new flesh dressing them like a rain storm...
Cowboys and indians, cats and dogs, villians and the angelboys and all your lost childhood toys...none of this...we just read, walk and wait and search the stars for answers that never shower down...

alone with friends
alone with family
alone in the company of animals
alone under the stars
alone in your clothes
alone outside of the closet...alone, alone, alone...

and in that black and blue midnight car full of new fuel
these highways just drive you in circles...driving the four point star map blues...
and we fly away to other destinations, taking our suffering to other points...alone under signs we can't read...

alone in her arms
alone in his

wide awake during sleep and still there is no escape

there is no escape

in the gun
in the knife
in the pills
in the hospital

you will become the sun of yourself
you will die a well groomed harvest and pregnant moon
you will be your own sleepy handed gun-slinger and savior...

passing the world off and loving everything about it
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