(To begin with a paraphrase)
"It's like there are these two dogs
that I hold inside of me.
One wants to sit on my lap
and lick my hand,
and play and run
and go for long walks.
Then there is the other,
It wants to grimace and growl
and bare it's teeth,
and rip the face off this world
and of everything it sees.
I ask myself, which one will I follow
I tell myself I will follow the one I feed.
in the mechanics of the mind, as it matters,
half way from heaven, half way from hell.
just aren't mechanically inclined, and while
most move forward, others get left behind.
talks all about this big war of spirit
and stresses that, it's no game,
no politics, physical or not can steer it.
There will be no passing the buck,
no pointing the finger in blame.
if you let me,
let me give two messages,
and I choose this one,
I want to hear about hope.
And hope says:
"Romance is dead,
no it isn't,
it's all in the head.
Just like foreplay could be a game of cards.
You make it so,
by snapping your synapse,
yes you do, and it grows".
Now isn't that worth its weight in gold...
And despair says:
" You are on your way
to being an old man
with the posture of
a question mark.
Always asking why
without parting your lips.
You will feel like you did
when you were an angry child,
eyes full of defiance.
your hands on your hips".
"Keep turning your back
to their turned backs,
while the walls will
keep turning to the left,
and whatever you try,
ehat ever you choose
will never be what was best".
Watch your life go by, watch as it goes,
watch it frame by frame.
There will be days when it all appears a waste,
and times that it will make you feel
that your kindness is your shame.
Doesn't despair try so hard, with so many words
to convince you that you're *******...
No longer am I walking with my head in the stars.
My feet are flat on the ground,
I put my ear to the track to hear
that heavy chunk of metal with its painfully mournful sound.
That painful whistle with its mournful sound...
walking on earth,
that half way place.
being tugged and pulled,
and I don't want to dig a hole,
I don't want to go back down.
I tell you, well,
the universe is saying in no uncertain terms
that I had better hold back,
I had better take heed.
It isn't just me that cuts cut,
no, all others bleed.
All those ****** good loving deeds
that hath spawned some life that I don't know about.
What about all those hurtfully hostile things.
Those things that gave hell for many to carry,
those things that gave hell for many to tell.
Then a breeze broke the solid heat
and quelled the sweat and quenched the thirst,
You can toast the twisted souls
or you can have them cursed.
In my minds eye,
for a brief moment,
no longer enveloped and inflamed.
And I see why my devil has so many names...
Never has it been one cause, on reaction,
and Oh, may thoughts and actions,
my shame that comes in fractions of degrees.
I can say there are other planes,
I can think that if I please,
though with every breath that I breathe,
I want to announce to my world
that I am not out just to feed.
there is that sleeping dog,
that one sick soul,
and out of some emotional need,
to make it better, some need to make it easy...
Like it had some pain or purpose,
like it had some point that arose
out of some need of some thing
that just had to be said.
Like that dog that you just kicked
only had a snack of grass
before he laid himself to take his bed.
You have been nudging him with your boot.
And now he is awake
and he is going to open his yap
and throw up on your shoes
before he commences to growl.
And that godawful hell will be back
and it's going to extract
one blood curdling howl.
You may as well throw in the towel
because it can't be tamed, no, your mind is trained.
This devil goes by so many names.
Two dogs. An old native American Indian story.