Nothing scares me more than inspiration stampeding towards me
I can feel her coming on like lightning bolt
As I sit in the distance eyeing her songs and poems and sonnets and anecdotes
Spiraling with great effort towards me
She has given me a net and a silk floral dress
For she has grown weary in the heavens
Living as idea and essence
Preferring a life of the palpable
To walk amongst the lay of men
To sleep within the threads of a woman
And yet I can only feel the chaos of her wash upon me,
As I throw her net into the great gulp of her eye
And I capture nothing but the pure feeling of
Her wrath in between the seams of my silk dress.

So where were you when the light shone through and the curtains went up in flames?
I was down by the river sifting for hope while watching the wolves play games.
So where am I now and what is to be of what was and can I ask why the **** not?
These questions you ask in folds too many are you hinting you think it's a plot?

Question not my questions fool who's forsaken to the winds of fortune and luck.
I'll answer your questions you conceited *** if not for words of which I'm stuck.
Please take this pipe and riddle me this old man will not my spirit be spared.
No it will not, you'll take what is given and what you seek cannot be shared.

Then he hopped away this talking roo, with the blue velvet three shaded collar.
As I sat grounded somewhat dumbfounded I'm looking at all this squalor.
Could this be the reason for her act of treason to what I had hoped we shared.
Could I have been wrong, to sing her that song her ears I thought not to spare.

Tell me Santa who drinks my last Fanta and you know how much I like grape.
Yes I took shrooms, I've trashed many rooms, so my dreams have already escaped?
I need more of that whiskey, just so I don't miss me when I'm sure to misplace my mind.
I know you don't know me and I doubt you will find me when your time turns in kind.

You may taste the acid the surge and the rush as the smoke dances over your head.
It's a ****** up road and a darkly path where better men have wound up dead.
Heed not my warnings my rantings and such for you see I am just too far gone.
Take it from me the guy with one shoe who just woke up out on your lawn.

I can't tell you which star is which.
Only because I don't know.
I can tell you how it feels. To touch one.
It's soft and warm. Think early spring.
That tingling feeling. Couple that with the good kind of nervous.
Never will my heart beat so fast whilst I remain perfectly at ease.
I don't care what we talk about. Just so long as we keep talking.
The mythology behind the blood orchids or Marie Curie.
If I fall asleep, I'll just pick up where we left off in my dreams.
I don't know where that river goes.
I know I can relate to it.
In so as it passes you by in this moment in time, as do I.
Though our time seems of length. Tis only a breath.
I am not yours and you are not mine.
Just as the moon doesn't belong to the wolf.
Nor does the wolf belong to the moon.
In knowing this. I will trade a thousand breaths to one.
If only that one could be spent with you.

My heart is tired.
I can feel it.
It wants so badly to lie down.
To go to sleep.

I am ready.
I don't want to.
But I must acquiesce.
It hurts, all the time.

Lie to me.
Before I go to sleep.
Tell me those lies.
Before I give Charon his duty.

Tell me you loved me.
Tell me I mattered.
I know you don't mean it.
I just want to hear them once.

I want to believe you.
I can't, though I want to.
As a balm to my heart.
Just say it.

I'm going to lie down.
Call me for dinner.
If I don't rise.
It's my heart. It was just too tired.

Of all the things I know not of,
I do not care if there is a heaven above.
A house in the clouds and streets of gold?
Are just some of the frivolities of which I've been told.

I have no need of your petty gods.
I'm betting against them, I like the odds.
I have come to terms when it comes to beliefs.
In that I have none, no gods or chiefs.

I thought that I might've like to go to the show.
To emerge from the shadows and bask in the glow.
It was then that I saw that I wasn't invited.
Upon seeing reviews I was rather delighted.

You say there was dancing and drinks to be had.
That a wise man spoke and said things are so bad.
You gave him your money so he could have more.
He bought a new jet, it's not for the poor?

I think I'm good with this wise man of yours.
He's not feeding the sick and offering cures.
Promises made plenty, never paid in full.
This wise man of yours, sounds more like a fool.

Keep your shamans, your nuns, and your preachers.
I'll take the poets, the lovers, and teachers.
Those people around me who care for my heart.
Those people who nie to tear me apart.

This ancient wound will be healed
The blood that pours from the mouths
Of the oppressed
Will be stopped
The thunder that rocks the bones of the weak
Will be silenced
The acrid smog that fogs young lungs
Will be cleansed
And the cancer that grips humble innards
Will evaporate
We the champions of destiny
Will flower
Our bodies will purify
Even our minds
Our vibrating essences
Will reform our dwellings
And peace will grow like a beautiful ornament