you had birds in your mouth and sunlight dripping from your eyelashes.
i promised i wouldn't speak if you wouldn't change faces twice an hour.
we made conversation under a tree and sleep-walked through your kitchen.
i couldn't stare for your poetry disguised as fingers, always moved your hands.

i opened your window and slid to the street, took a walk with the recycling.
my hands looked tired the next morning, and you wouldn't take no.
when the lights fell asleep, we ran for the boats and slipped into the water.
the moon smiled and pulled us apart, i never matched your shoes again.

let  's                                                      place
                                    these                                                                                  magnets
                    where                                                                   ever                                                  we
         please                            and                                                              make
                                                                             sentences                                                                                          that
                                                                                                                                 we                                          don 't  
                                          really                                                       mean
because                                                                 in                                                            reality
                          all                                                                  this                                                                    food
                                                         is                                                                going
to                                                                             spoil
                                                                                                get
                                                                                                            rotten
                                                                                                                              and
                                                                                                                                          the
                                                                                                                             flesh
                                                                                                                 will
                                                                                                 smell
                                                                                                            of
                                                                                                                     death

Sometimes I,
When faced with confrontation,
Enjoy making my way to,
And only in times of sorrow or joy,
Frozen yogurt stores.

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations.
Social pressure manifesting itself into anxiety and doubt.
A mechanical mess of cogs and wheels churning out endless streams of mental clout.

Be what I will and do as I may is what I say.
But they say:
Be what we will and do as I do, this is the proper way.
Try not reform or perform to conform is what I say.
But they say:
Follow me through this hollow tree and you will see what I want you to be, this is the proper way

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
passed down through electric, media driven sensations of transient satisfaction,
a mechanical mess of wound up plastic toy soldiers marching in circles with rubber souls pointing death dealing cylinders at each others backs.

Be yourself for everyone else is what I say.
But they say:
Be everyone, or else.
Try for progression's sake, be genuine and certainly not fake is what I say
But they say:
Try for regression's sake, be fake and certainly not genuine, this is the proper way.

An ordinary soul encompassed in extraordinary expectations,
disgusted with modern tribulation, choosing self-selected conscious liberation.
A singular, personal declaration toward evolution.
A natural mess of vines and roots reaching below and above producing boundless rivers of truth and love.
This is revolution.

Be one amongst many is what I say.
But they say
Be us. This is the proper way.

Be you, is what I say. This is the proper way.