the dead will dance until dawn

I see shadows in serenity, the silent scream of secrets
spread as centipedes to sever and never
return the certain shelter from this stormy weather
I am the spirit of spite incarnate, the sublime surrogate
of the taste of tempest under uncanny vacancy
testing my temperance and skin of sinless sober san(t)ity

stagnation separates the soul from the sin
and we dream of dreaded days where we will be away
wishing for more time to waste in drinks and kicks
'cause "tomorrow we'll do what we need to"

tomorrow, overmorrow, nevermorrow
the walls wail for breakdown
and we frown and moan at the passage of time
so young and yang, lustful and full of trust
but dead of fresh thoughts, la même chose, tous les jours
time will take its toll and the flesh will mirror the soul

dance as the dead
dissonant dysrhythm
dreaming of escape
but I don't think you can