Here we go again,
Another day, another dollar bill to spend,
Still dividing my time, by seven twenty five
Plus tips up the bid,
School will "take care" of your kids,
Don't think about missing out on them,
Cause in the end we all gotta eat...

It's not as easy as it's made out to be,
This, so called "American dream".
It's been a scheme since the banks became a thing,
And it seems to me that,
Winning isn't really even an option....

Cops shootin' down innocents,
Ignorant people blaming the immigrants, Violence is imminent in the face of division.
And we are all victims.

Blessed by Thee, the gift of creation.
Cursed by needs of individualism.

Blessed by Thee, eternal unification.
Cursed by greed, social consumerism.

Blessed by Thee, light the gift of vision.
Cursed by breed, melanin racism

Blessed by Thee, a drop of infinity
Cursed by genes, fates indecision.

Blessed by Thee, the heart of a musician.
Cursed by jealousies rotting prison.

Blessed by Thee, Will of The Magician.
Cursed by bodies physical division.

Blessed by Thee, Love and compassion
Cursed by creed, systematic division.

Idolizing drugs as if it's what sustains you
While I'm worshipping love contained in a statue.
I painted your face upon the cracked stone,
Hoping your grace could make me whole,
Again, my goddess crumbles at my feet.
Stolen from me by the shadows deceit.
Hollow was the ground upon which we built,
Our home was a grave held up by rotting stilts,
Twas only a matter of time before collapse,
Foretold by the stars, prophecies own map...
Still, I fought for you, to rip off the mask
Your grasp on my heart faltered,
We weren't meant to last.
To let you go, meant to shatter like glass
So here I am, scattered shards, lost in the sand.
The pieces cut my hands, I don't remember who I am.
Blood smears the reflections. I don't understand,
The message was clear before fears lead you astray
Now Death has come, a headstone is all that remains.

Just in the pubs and clubs
******* our own gear around
Seemingly, always upstairs
For weddings and birthday parties
Sorting out miles of wires
Well-worked practise

But when those amps were turned on
With an audible amplified thud
As switches are flicked
And their lights gaze like tiny red eyes
That's when I am ready

First number and the drums and bass
Connect to create new heartbeats
And now I'm into it
Not the man in the mill anymore
I'm the frontman for the band
And the music soars through me

As the night goes on and grows
The crowd has grown and is dancing
Gaining energy from the music
And feeding it back to us in turn
Now THIS is being alive

And so it was

                                 By Phil Roberts

the marriage between two hotdogs and two buns

some say it is a bliss - the union of two hotdogs:
two pieces of elongated meat lying side by side
bound by grease, tenderized by heat.
some say they're sumptuous,twice as filling, twice as fun;
though you can only consume them one by one.

two hotdogs can quite be a scene,
may it be dinner or an afternoon delight.
some may like it, some may not.
but who can deny them, that for them is delight.

the same goes for the bonds of two buns.
two hearts twained, bound by filling.
twice as refreshing, doubly fulfilling.
food for the gods, truly life-giving.
for the marriage of two buns can be mouth watering.

the matrimony of two hotdogs and that of two buns,
may be fun for anybody, but not for everyone.
as most could still be sated by a sandwich; grilled meat and toast.
as the marriage between a hotdog and a bun is still preferred by most.

If I look pretty
They won't see the demons I hide

If I smile
They won't see the death in my eyes

If I laugh
They won't hear me cry out

If I act this way
They won't know I died last summer

I'll look alive
But in reality
I'm a walking, talking, corpse

I'm rotting from the inside
Im truly dying
I'm done fighting

I'm good at pretending
Pretending I'm strong
Pretending I'm happy
Pretending I'm fine
Pretending I matter

But in reality
None of its true
Because I died last summer
When my demons took over

So now I'm a corpse
Among the living
A zombie
A machine
Just going through the motions

The tendrils of your heart
wrap around me like barbed
wire,

puncturing the pale skin
that shields my bones like
a sheet,

some half hearted ghost
that knows the secrets of
near death.

I have been there before,
tangled in tubes, belly full
of Aspirin, blood thinning

in a hospital bed. Shackled
by secrets, a blunt knife
beneath a filthy pillow.

I have looked into the eyes of God
and found them to be merely
mirrors of

my sin