from ripe to rotten
sitting on a filthy shelf
from remembered to forgotten
praying for some kind of help

mumbling through the forest
tripping on broken branches
stumbling through my brain
ripping up old love letters

morphing slowly into something worse
she told me, when i die, she wants to drive the hearse
my brains all jumbled and filled with nonsense
i move my tongue to speak but i'm makin' no sense
things never seemed bleaker and i like it that way
trudging through my life with my minimum pay

my car is broken down, ain't nothin' i can do
she drives me 'round town as my face turns blue
chokin' on the oxygen ****** through a cigarette filter
she tries her best to be the best, supreme guilt-er
payin' no mind with my head out the window
always emphasizing that she ain't no *****

shes a ******* heathen
shes a ******* *** demon
she ***** everyone
she ***** for fun

she ***** when shes sad
she ***** when shes mad
and im okay with that
as long as she stops smoking crack

she hits my phone
i grow a quick bone
but then i think again and i ******* instead
because all those std's are buried deep in her bed

she doesn't know a thing about a thing but she doesn't pretend to
she dances dumb, can't really sing, but i don't care cause between is glue
she lacks a heart, a brain, a conscience, but it don't matter when we're together
she has no interest in the world around her, but then again nothing lasts forever

you don't know if its up or down or up
head in the clouds like its where its supposed to ******' be
used to drink every day, got so ****** up
stumblin' down the hall with the lights off, couldn't see a ******' thing
strap me down, wrap me in that sweet straightjacket
if i scream, if i screech remind me to shut my ******' mouth
thought i could walk, i could talk like 'em but i could never hack it
so i grew these broken wings and made my way ******' south

Freedom
Taken from you before you see
Truth
Doesn't matter when they disagree
Honesty
They only want you to play the game
Justice
Only served when you're lame

Yesterday I had a conversation with my superior
I told him I believed in the right to privacy
He said "no," and now here I am and there you are
I am left with a lack of rightful clemency
But then again, I'm not owed a thing
In a world where we're all blindly judged
There's a difference between a shout and singing
All I'm hearing now is this deafening ringing

a thought is thunk
while you
passively
go about
your work.

the thought dies
without a cry,
and so
mourning it
does not seem
necessary.

later on though,
when business
dies down,
it is revived.

like jesus christ
it comes back
to life.

resuscitated.
renewed.
you reign
it in.
you hold on
tight
this time.
grasping desperately
to the frail frame
and open your mouth.

but
nothing comes out.