We Sing That We Forget About The Tides

Georges Cunningham

I forget about things that we are.

Tides are living but breathless memory.

When we take off our names, we begin to sell another abortion,

Alkaline metals substitute another limbic system in the semblance,

The dark shadows of coral reefs will become real,

And the human stain will see all the folly and frivolity of creation.

This is what we like about things:

We sing and there is an eruption of particle physics.

We provide light and there is a royal ceremony for 7369.

We dance and there is no joy in celebration.

We praise and we live forever in ultimate death.

We exist through the prism of consciousness and we observe ourselves in duality.

Another title can provide a vicious substance

That can split the infinite sea.

Aerophones formulate:

’Sometimes we have a tide to forget, but other times we forget we have a tide.

No one can sing about the tides or the things we tide.

Things are tides and tides are things.

All is well when tides are things and we forget to sing when we forget.

But the tide will not forget that we sing.’

Time is a tide of thought.

Time is a tide of singing.

This time is like time but not the time that we steal.

No one can live inside another.

No one can breathe through thought

Or through tides, but time can exist through thought and tide alike.

But can time be tides?

The eternity of completion.

Thought is a tide of time.

Thought is a time of singing.

Shall we be the ones that show them another door of possibility?

Will the tide carry away thought?

Will the thought carry away time?

Will the tide carry away the tide?

Shall we be the ones that experiences human faculties before demise?

No one forgets about time.

No one forgets about the tides

Except when we sing:

»Cannibalistic holocausts drive up prices of Bactrian hair weaves

Shamanistic enterprises fold the steel rods exceptionally

Occurrence is a happenchance, standby for the gun

Semihemidemisemihemidemisemihemidemisemiquaver»

It is the time of tides again,

So we will sing.

And sing.

And sing.

And fall over.

And sing.

And become time’s tide.

As we sing.

As we sing:

»Cannibalistic banana, hold your hand like a crepe

Be the holocaust you want to be.

Shamanistic banana, hold your head like a hand

Seal the holocaust you want to know.»

So we will sing,

So we will sing,

So we will sing,

And we will forget

That we sing:

»A tide of seraphim in the cenotaph

Keep us at a distance.

We can’t dress in uniform

Without hunting another in hyperbolic time continuums»

So we will sing,

So we will sing,

So we will sing:

»Blasphemous crews of oligarchies

Continue to open the window

And shatter the titration’s apex

As we burn

As we burn

As we sing

That we sing

As we burn

As they obfuscate all paradigms remaining.»

So we will sing,

So we will sing,

And we will forget the time

And the tide

And the thought

And the tide’s time

And the time’s tide

And the thought of time

And the time of thought

And the tide of thought

And the tide of time

That cascades over our dead bodies

Until the tide casts away into infinity.

So we will sing,

So we will sing.