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by Nevada Kerr

Bedlam devoured by man-made borders
No one remembers your sweet chaos
We hovered above the working bodies
Searching for centuries for your daughter

Daughter of Bedlam
You roam the market bleeding
Your sweet and sticky blood drops
Fertilize the dawn and bone dry pastures

Our eyes tease wonders from your ashes
The flesh you solicit provokes our doom
Your hair untied sends comets flying
But we still take refuge in your tomb

Sister Bedlam, Disorder's daughter
You show up late for every slaughter
Your graveyard dancing brings life to order
Drowning forest fires in torrential waters

Mother Bedlam, the dreamlord's bad gene
You taint the half light with the dread of night
Your tireless fingers jam fatal triggers
And draw out voices from brain-dead singers

Your widow's wisdom resides in hearts made cheaper
In the germ fed brains of wall street bankers
You tour the vaults and drive the galleys
Homeless vagrants wear your face in city alleys

Bedlam brought forth by cemetery prowlers
No one doubts your impenitent will
It is not our right to rule your weather
We peak only to wither with every thrill

Bedlam driven to boredom by hope and freedom
Someone calls out to your waiting shadow
He whispers his cold winter song of exaltation
And you arise like a black sun, a shiny new catastrophe
For the wandering hordes of exiled nations

Written by Nevada Kerr
9th April 2000.
(Edited 6th October 2001).

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Created: October 2001 © Paul Kinder Last Updated: 10/10/01