Schopenhauer's Will

And the ghost is the thing in itself,
Not to be undone by the seeing eye,
Unknown and unknowable bride,
Song of the cosmos; the suffering sigh.

A mortal mind lights upon god's diary,
Finds the world is a toy made of words,
The sky is the decoy of heaven,
The flight path of automatic birds.

The wolf must revel in hunger,
Man must negotiate the beast,
Eve the gravity's steward; tugging on the apple, But the fall will mock up the feast.

I will take that walk,
I will take that walk.

And the moon is the voice of the howl,
She is the tragedy's persona-profound,
Time is the wake of the ghost,
The savage equation of the truth abound.

Grounded ethics of bone and being,
Yet the blood stained tooth and claw,
Heretic to the dogma of sense,
Deconstruction and division though one is all.

Motion sans motivation winds the clock,
Meaning an investor's point of view,
A bleak landscape bleeds the vision,
Forged in the forgery of all you do.

I will take that walk,
I will take that walk.

Capricious clockwork unwinds the mystery's sham,
Just a cold epicenter of apathy,
Can't be so wrong yet so wise,
Find a season's cure in a symphony.

Calculated passion drives the day-maker,
Let knowledge of the way purify the will,
The world is no bigger than the keep of your skull, The turning away is the key of the kill.

And the mind-charging energy of numberless worlds,
With truth beyond what we can know,
Cast the shadows on the cave walls of the liar's tomb,
In the rage of the inexplicable go.