Always in the early hours
Demons creep across the void,
They beckon me to play with them,
Their memories in black and white –
Celluloid of flickering thoughts!
The jerking movement of their limbs
Carry spirits of the past but then they tell
Of future plans already writ by those
With sins inside their eyes –
Yet, are these lies or bitter truth?
We have no choice in what we do?
Those twins wrenched apart at birth,
Meeting later find their lives
Identical in every way.
Pressing these keys I think I know
But then I don’t. It’s all been said
Before, in some past tomb
A mind lies quiet; he’s played his part:
This is their law.