Half sick, half full
--not yet descended--
the web is woven now.

Impaled on the loom,
the martyr cannot win:
tangled representation of the tangled mind.
The art is in part in the chaos.

Half sick
--already halfway down--
shades of inspiration
dispel as illusion.
Theyre coming down:
tearing from the walls with one touch,
hitting the floor even faster.

Half full
--only halfway down--
but gaining speed,
losing sight.
The web is woven now:
the artist gets one last win,
the martyr cannot lose
when the art is in part in the sacrifice.

In the beholders eyes, mine seem closed.
But in the tangled mind, one lasting sight:
I am my own impression of myself.

--half full, half sick and descending--

Lyrics submitted by VampedVixen

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