People do not know what they are saying anymore,
They break what they do not want to see or hear,
And they convince themselves that they love eating glass

Oh moon,
You are a martyr of the day,
I never want to hear your name again,
It sounds too much like mine

Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows

The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves

The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
I cannot sleep tonight,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net


I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
                                   Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
                                    Will I stop myself?
                                                      *­Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
                  Where can I find it?
                                    Will I stop myself?
                                                      Ti­me moves too slow
I shouldn't be-





                                                       ­                        And The Sun Goes



Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,

Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island

Where I washed ashore

Reality is a pretty rude guy,
Sometimes he'll wake you up at 3 a.m.,
And make you drive to strange places you never even heard of

Your name is sweet,
That is why the flowers bloom,
There is the Spring in your movements,
There is a lost world in your eyes

The sun sets,
For the stars in my eyes to shine,
They'll start singing,
Shimmering with howls,
A mourning song bursting from these florescence and screens,
Hands reaching from my pulse to your heart strings,
But those vibrations will be silenced,
By asphalt, machines, and muted desperation

My best friend loved this girl,
She died in a car accident tonight,
To try to understand this is a folly,
To comprehend is in vain,
But to be broken,
And to embrace weakness,
That is the only way to let the unthinkable pass,
And deter the birth of a specter that haunts the mind and peripheral eye from the realm of a bitter heart,
Which manifests from the fragments of golden memories twisted black by the lack of closure and acceptance

Gold is worthless

If there ever was a fatal tragedy in my life it is this,
I have become a master in the art of hatred,
And I never want to hate anyone ever again

Two chairs are out from under each end of the table,
They are facing me in a very angled and personal way,
As if people are lounging and having a conversation with me,
That's because Saturday's and Friday's ghosts of myself are sitting in them,
Maybe having drinks,
Or supporting their titled heads with one hand,
Cracking knuckles with the other,
I've been alone for five days now,
The house is very empty and quiet in a loud and crowded kind of way,
I become a ***** man when I'm alone for that long,
But maybe today,
I'll give the house a nice scrub

I didn't know that
When I was born
I was actually put into a race
To see who could cheat death
The fastest with
The most class

A satellite is watching its ants,
Broadcasting the pixelated sins of your fathers,
Just
     like
         snow
Go on sew,
Sew your seams little one,
All this humanism is bound to bust when you all find yourselves-

Eating cotton

Turn on the television,
I am naked,
I need to hide,
Turn off the lights,
I need darkness,
To abide,
And Babylon is seeping through the screens,
Demean us all,
Demean us all,
As long as I can be seen,
Demean me please,
Ease the curse of this vulnerability,
How do I survive on this tilted planet?
What's the use of living,
If I'm not alive?
Was man meant for this?
All these cages,
My job my house my car my body,
Is anybody conscience of this missing bliss of life?
Who can see,
All
    the
        nakedness
                       like
                        

                            me


The world washes over our bodies
The world washes over our bodies
**The world washes over our bodies

I'll make the hairs of this violin bow with moth's wings,
And play you the night,
Search and drifted,
Through such shade,
Shimmering company,
Defined by glass boundaries,
They bang their bodies against them,
Because they know no touch,
These are the victims of a desperate song

I am not a man,
I am glass,
Awaiting a brokenness,
Under such a weight as this

I stopped smoking ***,
So I had to play Super Nintendo games to neglect any thought of you,
Oh so temporarily

I am the bone man,
That's what they call me,
Can you touch the dead like me?
My closets are full,
With skeletons we dance,
A candlelight trance for me,
I collect my bounties under moonlight,
No sight for sore eyes on the horizon,
Guns in hand,
Cold steel for the warm ones out tonight,
I've done this for five years in my Ford Falcon,
That's the only thing he left behind for me...
I've had no other choice than running,
My fear of self engulfs all things,
I have no room to be afraid of any other,
I am the bone man,
That's what they call me,
Can you touch the dead like me?
My closets are full,
With skeletons we dance,
A candlelight trance for me,
Maybe I'll dance five years more

I am on a quiet planet,
The only voice I hear is the wind,
It is a never ending mass of land,
And its eternity is orange,
I was left here alone,
I walk along the surface of great angry craters,
For me here,
Time is equivalent to madness,
You left me here for judgement,
But you,
*You should have let me die

A ghost for every house,
Therefore,
My hands may touch no one

I love how you can see your breath in the winter,
It's like some sort of poetic justice,
A beauty to make up for all the leaves that die in the fall,
Something to cope with the tragedy of it all,
Funny,
It happens every year like clockwork,
And no one notices,
This is proof that magic is taken for granted

One of my grandfathers fought in the Korean War,
The other was a naval pilot,
They were both terrible men

I am the incarnation of suburban desperation,
The world washes over my body

When my Dad got divorced,
He told me that he would wake up in the night with his hands tightly clenched into fists,
I've gone to bed with aching bones ever since,
Falling asleep angry and alone,
Just like him

They're Everywhere!, The Beautiful Badger Skins, All Of Your Things, To Conquer The Ant, Feces Feline, ******* Traffic, The Coloring Books, I'll Catch You With Nets, A Truce To Trance, Pale Nosed Girls, Jars In June, Fake Fight Fridays, Just Like Madeline, Cats And Dogs, The Poor And The Smiling, So She Says, No Strawberries Please, Bicycle Chase, Chickens Don't Fly, Behind The Shed, Cars In The 90's, Carl's Disease, Anthropomorphic Crush, A Cheer From The Waves, Bubbles Bubbles Bubbles,  The Floorboards, Suitcase Joust, Beneath The Forest, Myspace Meltdown, Call Me On Tuesday, Take Me Out To Pho, Grave Of The Cameras, Toothpicks And Cigs, Wax On Wax Off, Bad Days For Good People, Burnt Bacon.

I love you,
I don't want to

The sun glows through dust,
Behold,
I am the collector,
They may land on me

Holding hands with wolves,
They bite my fingernails in the summer

She was the devil I swear,
She would be naked,
But she wore loaded guns for everyone,
For all the selfish are murderers

I button my shirt,
I get dressed,
I pour some cold coffee,
Now I feel like I'm going somewhere,
I'm not

I am a raccoon masked self sabotage tycoon specialist with a self inflicted past-biased hit list peeked at through urban eye sags pulled down by years of troubled pleasantries now darkened with giant grey glass fingers touching the skies and casting shadows on their own concrete feet providing my disguise wrapped in a capitalist bow tied blessing,
Oh forward progression,
Pathetic Fraud 101 is in session,
Catch me if you can,
I am my own cynical supremacist nemesis thief in the black and white mellow drama trauma,
I play all the rolls,
And these places take their toll on my soul because fossil fuel herds have replaced the sea you see,
Peel your eyelids back and allow me to derail your ignorant yarn sewn seam day dream from it's crocheted track,
Societies a chemical fire train wreck attack,
The difference between metal and wool is fire and flesh,
They're bound to mesh within a Chinese children tears committee calamity tragedy,
You think your H&M; hemmed subliminal photo-shoot suit is moral free?
Or is it that you refuse to look past your own pictures hung around your face by D.O.S. operated framed fixtures screaming "ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME!"
Or whatever O.S. you bless your shrine with,
Our world is a glass screen neon pawn lit mess with a p.o. box address,
Completely impersonal!
The true core of this horror lies within your head on your bed that morning you woke up and realized
"I can't fix it!"
I applaud you for having such a great start!
You're heart will settle and the city sunsets will become beautiful once you're full of this revelation:
**"I am not my own salvation."

The 60's ruined everything

A man of fragments,
I can no longer choke my self with these white picket hands,
You see,
I saw the small holes in between my parents fingers,
Where the worms sleep,
Only one made it across the fence,
The other is somewhere bleeding on the side not so green,
That is the testimony of their termite lives,
And I am it's harbinger,
Oh!
*Their termite lives...

As I tab out my djent,
With my mouse scrolling across Garfunkel's face on his vinyl cover,
I drink my orange crystal light as I think,
"Here's to future record sales."

Everyone has a god

Looking up at a fresh blue sky with patches of angry grey here and there
I looked back down again as he said
"Besides, look at all the flowers your father has given me."

I am a chameleon to you,
Or some kind of ghost,
My colors shift according to your proximity,
Or change depending on how lucky and bold I feel,
Placebos and foolish superstitions are usually my best hues,
But I still notice you in my little submarine with my peripheral spy glass,
That's right,
I'm a spy,
I know you wear cool and faded hooded sweaters and jeans in the winter that probably smell like closets and dead leaves,
And skirts that you picked from flower fields in the spring,
I know you have light allergies like mine,
As our sniffling during class seems to be contesting in some secret and unspoken competition with no rules,
Despite my quiet attention,
I feel as though you will never know these things,
All my attempts to tell you will be locked away by the pursuit of other men,
My own deep murky fears,
And the summers between us

In class,
I was the only one to voice my disagreement,
I do not believe in grey areas,
There is black,
There is white,
But God never says
"Maybe..."

I guess I'll sew my fingers together now
And swim to some green shore out there that no one really knows about
Right after I sweep the remaining string under the carpet

I look for the drifter,
I search for the wild heart,
I am drawn to the loner,
The quiet one is a song to me,
I long for the one who will prove me wrong,
The one who smells like rain,
And speaks of spring,
The one who is my teacher,
And my friend,
The one who shines in the summer,
And glows in the winter,
The mind of uncharted borders,
And an ocean soul,
The one who will watch the storms with me,
After all,
Lightning shows are free,

You said maybe one day you'll get to tell your story
But you're a thief
You seared all the ears that would hear it
Now I'll calmly block your number

A sea of gasoline's,
Grace of novelties,
Cars and halogen,
Social disease,
Manufactured dreams,
Scream on screens,
They glean from all living things,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
Such a contumacious existence,
Results in an animistic decline,
All things that once made us strong,
Oblivion has made a meal of them,
I walk around this town,
I see the colors,
I watch the scenes,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I live in a world without a heart,
But machines keep it breathing,
And it has many sons,
Crowned with clockworks maturation,
Am I the last one beating?
I don't tick,
Not like them,
I just watch men bite one another necks from the steps of the front door,
They call me the queen of the creaking floorboards,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I have matchstick eyes,
I twist fires with my fingertips,
All of these people made of wood,
They are like smoke to me,
I breathe slices into them with teeth that have no number,
I am December,
I fight,
Take,
Hide

I think there is a time in every man's life when he finds himself in a quiet place and he gently puts his hands on his face and lets them drip down his skin as he thinks "Oh God, what does my father think of me?" It is this very thing that happens to me every day, and I find it difficult to release myself from the idea that finding a quiet place on a daily basis for this ritual is not far from destiny. I remember when I was a child I had such a marginally religious fear of thunderstorms that it would cause me to turn the television to the weather channel so that I could reverently temper my dread according to the forecast ahead of time: this is the same horror that washes over my heart when I see my father slowly approach the picture of my life to make his first appearance of the day. He is both ghost and man: a man that I know now as someone who lives teetering on the fence-post between acquaintance and friend, and a ghost of the person from my childhood that was once in a marriage to my mother that was full of teeth and rage who was not my father, but rather an incarnation of shame and disappointment.

Almost everyday there is a time when
I quietly place my hands on my face
And let them slowly drip down my skin

as I think

"Oh God, what does my Dad think of me?"

I see the demons in these people,
Tired eyes carrying the weight of self infliction and the sight of monstrosities,
They do not see the sun,
And their breath is a tax

I look at these mountains
And I say to them
"Move."

Here I am again,
A seal perched upon pillows,
On a polyester cotton blended sea

I ran into the heart of darkness as it pumped the night through my veins,
I found the ghost wrapped round' with an envelope skin you slipped between the door and floor,
You wrote my name on his chest,
He called himself Nakedness,
He would haunt me for the next three years living in my shoe box,
He'll grow louder with the dust and the silence,
But the Summer sweat,
The frog and cricket orchestra,
These things are commin' soon,
So I'll drive to places far from here,
Covering myself with wolf clothes to hide my shame,
Because I will surely become the things I run from,
And your eyes will never be my hiding place,

A guardian is much more to be feared than a foe,
For a foe fights for his own ambitions and victories,
He has no external investments,
He is completely of self,
But a guardian is jealous,
He is a protector and shield,
His investments are external and his enemies have much more to fear in because his reason to fight does not solely lie within himself,
But also in the person that he protects,
Therefore his fury is doubled,
And his heart full of righteous anger and aspiration,
Enemies flea on love poured out upon another by sword

I drive a white truck big and clumsy,
It's a whale,
But today I get to drive the BMW,
It's just a sedan,
But I'll make it a fireball

You are the only thing that's real,
Forgive me for these fantasies,
For I am a just a shattered man of broken dreams
I am a coward
And you are my all

Will you remember me,
Oh Persephone?
Your eyes were wonders to us all,
But one day,
They may be murderers