I paint your body with my hands
You paint my mind with tattoos that you planted with a needle
No thread
What are your plans?
No threat
In debt
In deep like a sunken ship in the sea
Your deep blue eyes consume me with their secrets
Your Hidden features
You're an angel with her wings clipped
forgot how to fly
Maybe too close to the sun
Maybe too close to someone
Who caused you too much pain
Too much fire for a volatile combustible soul.
When you find me I'll be waiting in the lobby staring at a hole in the wall
feeling half empty
With a half full drink in each hand.

The black knight encroaches
With a full metal jacket
Those that surround him made him fade into blackness
Magic
Temporary madness
Half wits
Hat tricks
Harbingers of sadness
Haters engaged in a battle of two faces
Tasteless
Morals loose like her lips spreading rumors
Fabrication
Snakes lying dormant like suspended animation
A pretty face plays the victim that's how she
manipulates them
Think you know the story but you take the word of mouth as truth.
The best alibi is when there is no proof.
She make you feel like the king but your just another pawn.
The worst of it all is that you like to play along.

They need to redirect the energy they hate with
It's basic
Improvements will be made by creating love from hatred.
Like seeing a rain cloud and being glad you're outta the sun.
Like.. run Forrest run!!
What's with this kid?
Is he dumb?
I dunno
But he drops the funk like halitosis when the words leave his lungs.
..and the spit leaves his tongue.
Where the hell did he come from?
Not sure but..
I think they found him between a rock and a hard place with both sides of his heart stuck.
****.
Little did they know he had them underneath his thumb
Just waitin to push the button
Waitin to spray on something
Waitin to be the one to,
Bring the fire and brimstone
Because revenge can be sweet,
Kinda like a cold stone,
So pump this **** loud
til the dairy cows come home
stick it upside down  in your tape deck
and eat it like a fat kid.

How much rope?
for the misanthrope
hang em high
theres no hope
like a high plains drifter
what you seek is what you find
within death there is life
within the pen
there is a knife
and it executes
with surgical precision
when you look into his eyes
know that he's the unforgiven.

It has been the finest night.         
             
When dark windows fall into the light.                                                           ­   
When shadows call:

"Whence did you come?"    
                      
From rattled bones and twisted tongue?                                                
Of half-wit souls with broken lungs?                                            
And who are you to hold the sun?            
And who are you that holds the gun?                                                    

These bars,                                                  

They hold in every one.

You walk through my mind
Like a beacon in the night
Like a driving stinging rain
Like the sound of a rescue plane
Like a lost single word
Like the constant autumn brook
You run through my mind
So fast and so far
Like a falling star.
So bright
too short
So long.

Man needs to reconsider his place in the universe. Upon my morning awakening, while enjoying a cup of coffee(another one of man's creations although albeit simply refined and utilized by us), I closed my eyes and heard not the sounds of nature, as one might assume would be the ideal, but the sound of a pneumatic air-pressure nailgun stapling shingles on a roof. Then, in sequence following that in a crescendo of sound I heard the distant lawnmower native to this local urban habitat, feeding on grasses. This was only soon to be followed by the wind-like sound of nearby automobiles slowly passing by. All of this muffling the sounds of the morning flyers (winged creatures of an inferior design unknown to us) presenting their songs, but falling on deaf ears . That's when I realized we are a product and slave of our own creations, when we should be a slave (or close sibling rather) to creations unbeknownst to us.