Come grab your guitar
we'll sings some songs
like they did back in ''66
words found over a bottle of rye
'bout how the times are a changing
look around and you will see
its time to set ourselves free
your government is in control
while your tied to the progress wheel
round and round and round  it goes
where it all stops only freedom knows
so come on strum those frenetic chords
let the words flow from your heart
grab your life back from the tyrant's hand
rise from this sleep and make a stand.

There are two of involved in this battle.
One of us just making war.
Two of us made love in summer.
Both of us just lived for spring.
Walking hand in hand together on beaches.
Beside streams.
Sadly it seems.
That the river's polluted.
The sea it froze.
The beach was covered in oil slicks and washed up dead birds.
Separately at differing places at different times, we stroll on the seashore.
We pick over the bones of those who are lost.
A figurative exercise.
Working out why we are at war.
Why we ever were.
Together in the first place.
Two lost souls walking through dark passages.
Seeking and finding.
Hunting as predators.
Wanting to eat love.
Swallow it.
So hungry.
Ate too many.
Far too many.
Breathing space.
Broken hearts.
Fractured faces.
Time repairs.
Wait and see.
Whatever will be will be.
(c)Livvi MMXV

An argument over nothing,
left vomiting on this humble pie,
why stretch the limbs till they hurt ?
the teacher sets out her books not just to read,
she sets them out to show the promise of discovery,
so I sit in the quietness of empty promises,
wondering if I might even summon tears,
what goes up must inevitably come down,
this I remember through the furrows of my frown.

If I was to gaze into those eyes what would I see,
diamonds and jewels glistening in the morning dew,
blazing fire as they gaze into a crimson sky,
the blood red reflections mirroring your burning soul,
in such vitreous pools lay anchored ships of fools,
casting off their chains , setting sail to faraway lands,
ghosts that wander through the shadows,
moonbeams reflecting on a porcelain skin,
beacons through the darkness shining forth on rainbow shores,
there shall I seek my sanctuary until mornings new light.

alight a path of excited neurons
saved by corporeal fuses
sacrificed fried to save
my head from overloads all the
amperage storing up
Danger High Voltage!!!

flows inside from too much reality.

I need your alternating current
to mediate my DC.
To my Tesla, like, you are , Miss Whitman.
To your Edison I am but one spark of Voltaire.

You sing of electric bodies ten million volts.
I imitate Voltaire as he did Virgil.
If someday we should unite,
our sparks would alight on eternity.

I am a scenery
to be looked at from afar

when you're on a balcony looking out to new york
your eyes immediatly go to the buldings with the pretty lights
not even thinking about whats within them
and you're last glance is to the darkest spots
but if you looked at them closer you'd realize they count the most

and no matter how far to the edge you will be
you'll never be close enough to really look at me
you will never see the inside of my buildings
nor walk the dark spots in the depths of my mind
there was a time when i could call myself beautiful

*just look at all the pretty lights
the billboard saying "be who you wanna be"
but even if you're at the edge of your seats
you'll never get close enough to a scenery

Time heals all wounds, they say,-- but -- heartbreak --I--s a wound deeper than most. What if that was the first thing she has ever --lo--st? They said she was too nai--ve,-- too young.  And it hurts knowing they were --d--ead wrong. It hurts her knowing it ended real bad. It hurts trying to understand. She remembers the lips she once had tasted, and she remembers t --h--e     t--im--e... all of it wasted. She remembers the passion, the love, the way time would fly. And now all that's left is hatred, the blood, a final good-bye