When water became water, not lemon and lime,
I drank for the pleasure, not to pass time.

When bread became bread, not pizza and cake,
I'm hearing my stomach, and it needs a break.

When danger becomes danger, not fear on a screen,
I stopped checking corners for foes unseen.

When fire becomes fire, not mirrors and smoke,
my friends sit together, and nurture our hope.

When food becomes famine, and future unknown,
we'll treasure our friends, instead of our homes.

The inebriation of exhalation as the wild beast burns it's gut.
A trampling hoof that guides aloof this creature's weathered foot.
Time again a gait that fails
the weathered engine derails.

The other follows, a steady pace,
pursuing subtly an unfamiliar face.
Their paths crossed not without reason
though looking now it cannot see them.
What past has taught the future taunts with,
its exhausting, this furious pursuit of treats.
It helps the creature to it's feet.

What east feeds, west shall feast on.

The water offered, soon enough gone.
And though the west one was defeated,
it smiles in gratitude, almost sweetly.
But deep inside, the fire burns
the lessons learned are lost
as winter comes with a hunger born of frost.

Binary beasts, slave to each other.
Two wayward children split from their mother.

How can I know I am moving when
the air around me is ghostly still
the room surrounds me, white and chill
and the sun peeps over the windowsill.
I lean on my talent as though it would carry me
and place blame on my family
as though they would harry me
but no one but I can defy
these workings of fate, and
I'm under obligation of no one to be great,
but my aim is to be what
I know I must be, I am not a wheel
to drive an engine I am the blade defending,
I'd die before that I love
and need no threat from below or
blessing from above.

I arrived as a child of dust and from it I derive no meaning
other than to look for such a thing
that has no answers, advancing only
at the mercy of my own whims.
I must find things I love and feed them
and in turn connect myself
to the world and breeding these passions
I'd fashion a place, my memory retrieving,
and feel fascinated and young
like the inner child I'm starting to believe in.

Synchronize my family
and feed them to the wind
let their fevered hearts glow bright
upon my wired wings.

Anaesthetize paralysis
indulge in wave analysis
and stomp your feet and pump your fist
upon my wired wings.

Send the signal from the ground
to the twisting ceiling
that's when the feelings bounce around
upon my wired wings

You're flying out on gifts of fire
and living on the wind
so crank it up and find the wire
that leads to sonic wings.

Shower in the sea of wishes
hear the mountains sing.
When wind coils and earth fissures
beside re-wired beings.

I'd rather be with friends
than on the receiving end
of another certification
of my value in the tainted nation
fated to find its way back to masters
who offer no explanation
as to why they cast this draining paper
into a world that could be castless
if only we checked our own behaviour.

I'd rather be with friends
than working on a promised future
my abuser talking of a nuisance youth
and pointing fingers saying 'useless'
while they stuff us into suits
and boots that bare no resemblance
to the feet that marked our ascendance,
I seek not vengeance for the things we lost
I simply wish to reduce the cost
of being what we've become
cold and lost
and to continue what we've begun
to press on despite the cost and animosity
and all the atrocities
despite this we strive to build a world
that tempers its ferocity
and lets me be.

With friends.

Again, it comes, with stabs, and gaps, and drags, day, by day, you wait, with hope, that you, not broke, but a, phase of life, and not, condemned, or shunned, but truth, be told, if not, from fault, you're getting, old, and that, don't change, and soon, estranged, you'll roam, in search, of what, you lost. It is, with pain, I can inform, the human form, its not for life, least not our life, but each others, and that we must, be kind, lest we find, not helping, hands, but, roaming feet, and faces, that we'll never meet.

You'll love me as long as I say
the things you want me to say.
And if I don't tell you you're lovely,
your love seems to fade away.

But you'll love me if I know the way,
the way that I've learnt to convey,
to speak in the way that you taught me,
so your love isn't taken away.

And it's making me feel quite lonely,
all these words that you're making me say.
I don't even think that you'd know me,
if we spoke when you couldn't see my face.