Written by Ian Aleksander Adams on February 4, 2008
Arranged by Rin Alexander Ascher on February 9, 2008
Published in Issue 001
The wailing wall: blinding lights surrounding.
Me, the man.
The men all around.
All founding, we can see the meaning left. When bearded men leave us to our wandering, or asking for a heady donation to the cause. They give us a sordid glare and worried prayer. Hand across our backs, they see us against the wall.
Fall down with us,
towards the light,
they block under their broad rimmed hats.
And... loudly whisper in languages unknown. The tongues dry from lack of women's attentive care they, and us, under the stones of cities past, and thoughts a thousand years. In the scrambling - the shambling walk of thought cemented.