Pseudo-spirituality from Ponerogenesis by Mike Ogle

You're the one, that I want, sack of bones dried to touch.
Tone of talk, set the stage, eye the view, rumor-make.
Mojave dry, humor rap, walk a fine-line comic act.
Mold the mass working class; bag of clay into future dust.
Circle sight, nature right, anthropoid sacrifice.
Just a job, gotta do, it's our high, watch you die.
Enquiring minds want to know, dove's a hawk, sheep are goats.
Facts of life, frequent flight, power gossip thermal-flight.
You are the one that we deceive and taught no threat below.
Cut you down, to the ground - taloned kind, vulture mind.
Invisible world around, dimension-rift tear the cloak.
Trumpet blast, skeptic laugh - it's a fear we often pass.
Good bye.
I’m back.
For all my life' seconds stop, cannot get a moment notice.
Come to my own side, no other way without applying
all my guidelines'... teaching you' - you’re divine.
All eyes on me. I don’t mind… just… turn off, turn off, turn off, turn off, turn off the light!

• Indie-rock
• Rock
• ambient
• audiobook
• prog
• soundscapes
• soundtrack
• Indianapolis