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Hammill Peter Chameleon In The Shadow Of The Night Dropping The Torch We play games and every move is noted down as a subsequent cause and effectively chains our freedom and will to live: we settle in to simple survival, hanging on our pleasures grimly... we must never let them go... Our prison walls are slowly built, stone by stone and day by day no provision for escape, entombed alive in safety and decay. Time sets around us in killing frames, black border round our names. Our fingers lose their grip and the torch slips. The enemy for everyone is everyone, inside - I feel the hand of security creep on me with ice-cold fingers and crush my flower of freedom; I've lost the course of my adventure, all things I'm meant to do are lost. There is only one flame each to keep alive in the wind. but finally we snuff them out all by ourselves. We set traps and, in the end, fall into our own snares and have nowhere to go. Time ever moves more slowly: life gets more lonely and less real. |
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