Calm quiet in the eye of the storm
Gives you false senses.
No wind blows,
Yet you know the
Deathly silent air,
monotonous and harsh,
Will soon rip into thrashing torrents
Of cold rain and jagged lightning and growling thunder,
Curling up from underneath you,
Swallowing you alive,
Leaving your heart at the morgue
And your body in the mausoleum.
There is no where to run,
God's eye is upon you,
Tearing your feet from the ground
And stomping you to the floor
In one constant undulating motion,
Ticking clocks count down to indefinite demise
And your time is running backwards,
Running out,
Yet you stand in the eye of the storm,
Convincing the choppy waters of your mind
That there is no shore.
Soon, the curdling clouds will envelope you
And cast you down to your death,
Yet you stand in the eye of the storm,
Demanding that there is no truth
In what I say,
You'll soon be dead and forgotten,
Yet you stand in the eye of the storm,
Denying the trunade surrounding you.