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April 30, 2012
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:iconahermin:
Our house of fire, in the middle of our dream.

Home, home again I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired,
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field the tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells. Pink Floyd

The world around inspires nothing than profound disgust and labors the desire to run away without claiming any share of fake belonging that is insinuated by the News headlines and by reality shows.
We long to return to our forefathers’ home where the ancestors once lived protected by angels’ wings. We look to find that peculiar morality witch turned life in holly. We search the feeling of belonging, as compulsive as the embrace of mild addictions; that something that transcends and yet contains life. We cannot live far from eternity.

Let's build a house of fire, baby
Not one of wood or stone
Walk through my door of desire, baby
Come on in and make it your home
Don't need a window to watch you, baby
Don't need no roof overhead
Don't need no key to unlock ya, baby
I'll use my lovin' instead A. Cooper
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