Verse 1

Formless, Unyielding, I cling to this feeling

"Contain yourself" they said (well I think I won't!)

Know this, discerning, submit to this yearning

Cause when it ties me down I (slip right through the rope!)

Arcane Prisons cloud these visions

Pressured by my inhibitions

Only when I see through the mist

Will I have the means to prove this

Chorus

(Give up it's so absurd!)

In time you'll find, I have the final word!

(Give up it's all a dream!)

Or so it seems when all of your thoughts are blurred

(Step up if you deserve)

In time you'll find, I have the final word

(Step up, it's all a dream)

Or so it seemed, are all of your thoughts confirmed?

Verse 2

Shameless, revealing, the key to this feeling

Sustain yourself they said (and they think I won't!)

Know this, determined, submit to this burden

Cause when I hear that sound I (give in to the hope)

Arcane prisons cloud these visions

Tap these walls for breaks I listen

Only when I see through the mist

Will I have the means to do this

Bridge

(Patience is befitting of a master

Still life's short and we just want it faster)

Chorus 2x

2nd Bridge

Break my locks, unlock the breaks internal

Burn down the walls, from my prison infernal

One last knock in case there's any more doubt

I won't stop until my fire burns out!

Augmented Final Chorus

(Step up if you deserve)

In time you'll find, I have the final word

(Step up, it's all a dream)

Or so it seemed, are all of your thoughts confirmed?

(Give up it's all a dream!)

Or so it seems when all of your thoughts are blurred

(Give up it's so absurd!)

Today you'll find, I'm having the final word!

Oh, so you want to be a writer?

You've fashioned yourself a little world independent of the rat race

You've steeped yourself in craft, in how to spin a phrase

You know that you could "speak truth to power" for days and days and days

Oh so you want to be a writer?

Oh that's nice, are you aware that it's all been said before?

Oh not with you because you're different? Oh how could I ignore

With such a compelling argument from someone who I've never heard

You've really got me hooked on your every single word

So if I listen will you tell me how I can live my life

or maybe give me another parable to make this all more bearable

Make a mantra that is wearable, or something incomparable

Just like all the ones I've read in my studies

Oh someone liked it? Oh I suppose it's probably derivative

Because you're working with themes, freethinking probably prohibited

See I'm the guy who'd say you're unoriginal for painting with red

Because all things are stemmed from other things, I want all frameworks dead

Why is there structure? You're repeating words on the end rhyme

Let me guess, at the end there's gonna be some clever end rhyme

to keep your verbiage in time, to spicen up the headlines?

to give it another direction defending pretending to benefit people by lending a second inflection preemptively bending in time to the beats of the hearts of the blended?

You're clever, you rhymed something multisyllabic, electric your voice, saying "**** the volt I am magic" not grounded to reality you've claimed to be Zeus's mortal form inhabited

Simmer down baby you're on a roll with yourself

I wonder how long you think it'll be before you break the mold

of pretentious defenders of needs and false interpretations of dreams

You had a dream about music, well I guess we can see what that means

"To dream about Disco suggests you need to be more sociable"

Have you ever stopped to think it might just mean "where did the coke go?"

"To dream that you are in a musical suggest you need to be careful with your emotions"

Because musicals are for sissies, ya da ya da grab the lotion

Stroking myself is my greatest profession

Because I'm learning about me, yes I'm writing this for me, and the only voice that I can have is authentically my confession

I can sell you an image and hope you can relate to that

You'll interpret the meaning, and I'll hide behind the praise while I sit back

I'll let you watch shadow puppets while I'm doing my dancing

I can build up my world, I can hold you entranced in

I'm breaking too many fourth walls to have a building to glance in

I want to give some expression, I need to show you what I hid

*Oh yeah, that's nice, are you making any money at this yet kid?

There is no objective meaning to life

So how do you expect me to get down and deep

With limited eyes seeing blinders in the corner of my peripherals?

It's residual, I begged to shake these thoughts like snowflakes

in a crystal, they have scattered up and down til I can't

See the image plastered down the walls of my illusions

Confusion? If only that was true, I see more now than I see in you

How can I feel deep and meaningful when all of this contrived highlights

It's all just my brain bleeding, scattered my drip drops of rage

Do they flip flop? The page has hit lift off, I'm out of the realm

of what I knew to be self development hell compelling me

To scatter fragmants of wanton and wear

But see unless I point that out you'd never know it's there

Because I'm supposed to plaster on a smile and feed you lines

that you desire to add meaning to life, or add a voice down the wire

If I sit upon my laurels you'd think that I had nothing new to say or never

thought about abstractions til they bubble and boil to heady

broth overflowing staining the floors screaming "my god make this stop"

I don't wear my head upon my sleeve, I keep my helmet on

So go ahead and think I'm surface level, I also like to be wrong

Talk to your friends, I'm sure they're dark and mysterious

They have such strong perspectives, they're in touch with the furious

I need to voice at all times? Does my bark not befit you

I'm not a dog meant to bark at every meaning that drives through

I take no solace in wallowing in the depth of another

I don't expect you to read this and gain a sense of the other

I'm not writing to bring you a route down back to your soul

Because you're soulless and weary, I don't claim that I have control

We're spinning in the toilet in a chamber of meaning

Whose **** stinks more than others, why lets compare them and eat it

Consuming excretions is all you get from your dealings

Because nothing is deep, when the bottom is fleeting.

Another day, another act of chaos

I see it arise quite often now, a school shooting, a death in the family

I've learned not to be surprised by it

I see the reactions in the faces of loved ones; looks of confusion, of fear, mouthing "how could this happen, why?"

How are you surprised anymore?

I think of where they must be internally, grappling but submitting to a God who must think them servile, at least how they have crafted Him

Content in the answer "God works in mysterious ways"

It's easy to be mysterious when you're not even there

Like my biblical namesake, I have grappled with God internally, wrestled him to a standstill, and I cannot allow Him to supplant me

I know there is no great lesson to be learned from this, and maybe that's lesson enough for today class

If I claim to be an instructor, a teacher, a guiding light to those walking along a murky and narrow corridor

I must hold open a path toward light, and point out the missteps that must be taken to get through the threshold

I am not surprised by killings, by death, I have met him, and he has saved a seat for me, I have it ready in my hometown six feet underground

I meet up with him from time to time, he instills his presence by proving to me he has met with my loved ones, my associates, and shows to me

"I will have you soon enough"

Fortunately I procrastinate when it counts, and hustle where it doesn't.

To everyone who has met him, or has seen his works in the current chaos

I send love.

Have some **** humor
Art is a subjective craft
you ******* hipsters

(T)his

(P)oem

(F)orms

(O)riginal

(R)esponses

(M)eriting

(Y)ields
­
(B)arraged

(U)nendingly

(N)ovelty

(G)rants

(H)olier

(O)bfus­cation

(L)eeway

(E)ternally

I don't write poems because I'm worried you'll think they're "good"

I write poems because I can't do heart surgery

I write songs because I need my poems to sound a different way

Not because I'll get laid if I read this **** at a slam or after I play a set

If you're worried I'm just in this for the praise or the money, don't

I'd have it better as a doctor or a lawyer if that was my goal

I write because I have nothing else burning within me

Except for the occasional case of heartburn or lactic acid (I am human)

I can only observe and report, and augment, and adapt

In a world of chaos, in a world beyond qualification and adaptation

Where truth is a perspective and frameworks cage our knowledge

I can only assess outside of this cage,

I can only claim land in fallow soil, and attempt to quench myself with mirages of Oasis

I'm trying to drink from a dribble cup, my **** keeps spilling out

I love fiercely and speak brashly, I can't keep it contained

so tell me how full of **** I am, or tell me I'm convoluted

and I'll keep trying to quench my thirst in a dry spell

The desert will listen either way.