We sell our souls for a price
We barely can afford
Then try our best to buy it back
Going door to door

Sell it for a penance
Paupers on display
Hoping for acceptance
As our first love, we forsake

Hoping for acceptance
Given half a chance
Turning on each other
Then try to sell what little's left

Sell it all for a *** of gold
Somewhere over the rainbow
Then hang our coats on little hope
As if all of this matters

Sell on the assumption
That all of it is gain
Then all we gain we give away
As we sell our souls without a say

The sky is pink silk
Candy floss clouds for angels
Feathers for stained eyes

On the clock there was a tick,
That never seemed to make it
It's desire was to stop,
But it was captive to the tock.
So, the tick kept spinning round,
Irriated by its own sound,
It had pleaded for release,
But time is hungry like a beast.
The tick will never find an end,
It will consume you and you're friends,
It will keep on running with the tock
Because it is time, or it is not.

A see through girl looked up at the stars
Lost for a second and the sound of the cars
Faded from her mind like the boy who didn't call
For just one second the city felt small

She thought of the love that came from the dust
That fell from the sky and the clouds up above
She thought of this rock that we have to call home
That spins in the black as we all die alone

She  thought of chances lost when love had broke her heart
Of the rivers running dry and the ones that never start
She thought of the wind blowing through her air
Of the pink lights in the clouds that shine when she's not there

And her dreams of love
They were dreams and they were nothing more
Those sad dreams of love
They were never worth crying for.

Deep South
Word of mouth
The town had so much hate
Today’s world can relate
Separation
Black Man’s nightmare
All about fear
Tormented
Name calling
Woes
Blood that flows
The idea of being a minority
True reality
Just to survive
Attempting stride
No trust
Town of a past
Freedom at last
Shady Point
Didn’t inspire me
No dignity and honor
South scent
North went

She loves the
darkness.
It’s like a scar on
her soul.
She constantly complains about
my drinking,
yet daily, she fades
to black.
Sleep, oh what an
escape, but she
rapes the sunrise with
worry and
dreams deferred.
I write by candlelight because
she’s in a  
foul mood.
It’s like a tomb.