(This is my vision based off Slipknot's album Iowa. The picture is not mine, all credit goes to MEaves at flickr, the last line is from the song Iowa by Slipknot. This is not the final update of this piece, this is a vision that I hope to expand on soon. Take a trip to the depths of your mind, the seat of your nightmares and your dreams. Welcome to Iowa motherfuckers.)
Iowa
Empty screams cascade of the walls around him and fill his soul. (Why can't I breathe.) His voice follows his empty soul, he sees her in his sleep. (I'm wide awake and you're thoughts fill my head, come back with me and we'll make sleep awaken in our dreams). But he's not meant for this place, his dreams are following him again. He walks the streets, letting the pieces of his crumbling mask fall to the ground and be trampled upon. He can't feel and he can't be in this place.
(I'm just a heretic). 8 follow him and scream from the depths of his soul. He starts a band and sets himself on fire, letting his soul burn bright in the dark night, he falls but the band keeps playing, he breaks himself against the stones but the band keeps playing. (I'm all alone, I'm so alone, I'm so alone.) The scene plays out in his head, holding her until the dawn tears him apart and watching his pieces fall to the floor. (You're mine, you're mine, you're mine.)
He walks and the 8 follow him, he walks and they all die, they never stop, they just keep walking down that same road again and again. (I'm dying.) Past the skating rinks and the staring people with the wind screaming the same old song, you can never get out, you're mine, you're mine. Cry to you softly, smell you everywhere, they walk and he falls again and again and they wait by his side until he stands up again. 9 heretics and 9 devils who have breaken down the door of God. 9 heretics and saviors to us all.
He knows she isn't real but he kisses her in his daydreams. (She can't be real, stay away, stay away, keep away). The scene plays over and over again in his head. 9 heretics and the screams of a thousand weary souls. Blood we can't purge and can never understand. The wind rises and falls with the setting sun, and still they walk, their clothes baked to their body, their masks a part of them. They all scream to them, thousands of hurting children, thousands of broken bodies and screaming faces. (What the fuck do yo uwant with us?)
The truth is the road never stops and the journey never ends. The 9 walk, purging the sins of others that they hold deep within the crevices of their heart and soul. They stare and the walk is never over.
He lays on his bed, weary and broken. The 8 scream in the light of his heart. It's all over, he waits to sleep, a waiting that never ends and holds forever by the throat. Some say he took to the railroad tracks that lay dying, killing to the purge the demons of his soul. Some say he never lived, and Iowa died before it left the womb. But he has to live on, for we live, with the hearts of the heretics, and our masks, crumbling and decaying beneath our wounds. I haven't left you yet.
Empty screams cascade of the walls around him and fill his soul. (Why can't I breathe.) His voice follows his empty soul, he sees her in his sleep. (I'm wide awake and you're thoughts fill my head, come back with me and we'll make sleep awaken in our dreams). But he's not meant for this place, his dreams are following him again. He walks the streets, letting the pieces of his crumbling mask fall to the ground and be trampled upon. He can't feel and he can't be in this place.
(I'm just a heretic). 8 follow him and scream from the depths of his soul. He starts a band and sets himself on fire, letting his soul burn bright in the dark night, he falls but the band keeps playing, he breaks himself against the stones but the band keeps playing. (I'm all alone, I'm so alone, I'm so alone.) The scene plays out in his head, holding her until the dawn tears him apart and watching his pieces fall to the floor. (You're mine, you're mine, you're mine.)
He walks and the 8 follow him, he walks and they all die, they never stop, they just keep walking down that same road again and again. (I'm dying.) Past the skating rinks and the staring people with the wind screaming the same old song, you can never get out, you're mine, you're mine. Cry to you softly, smell you everywhere, they walk and he falls again and again and they wait by his side until he stands up again. 9 heretics and 9 devils who have breaken down the door of God. 9 heretics and saviors to us all.
He knows she isn't real but he kisses her in his daydreams. (She can't be real, stay away, stay away, keep away). The scene plays over and over again in his head. 9 heretics and the screams of a thousand weary souls. Blood we can't purge and can never understand. The wind rises and falls with the setting sun, and still they walk, their clothes baked to their body, their masks a part of them. They all scream to them, thousands of hurting children, thousands of broken bodies and screaming faces. (What the fuck do yo uwant with us?)
The truth is the road never stops and the journey never ends. The 9 walk, purging the sins of others that they hold deep within the crevices of their heart and soul. They stare and the walk is never over.
He lays on his bed, weary and broken. The 8 scream in the light of his heart. It's all over, he waits to sleep, a waiting that never ends and holds forever by the throat. Some say he took to the railroad tracks that lay dying, killing to the purge the demons of his soul. Some say he never lived, and Iowa died before it left the womb. But he has to live on, for we live, with the hearts of the heretics, and our masks, crumbling and decaying beneath our wounds. I haven't left you yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment