will the swamp sink my own troubles again.
I saw a frog hop to find another city.
Where he could remain who he should of been.
His career is to live with flies.
Of course  he doesnt mind.
If only icould be a frog.
Id be sattisfied living in a bog.
No matterwhere I go ill stay the same.
Like a frog who lillies around hopping for change.
Maybe I should learn the beauty in the swamp.
Then I will surley know where I belong.
Happiness wasnt made out of new rivers.
Its hidden in the marshes where I grew up.
Simplicity is like pond.
Be proud of where your from.
A tadpole becomes a frog.
And builds his life out of what he wants.
His confinement is only where he lives.
When he grows leggs hell know about the world.
And try to move away from boredom.

Find me O muse! authenticate the  missing keys.
Sounds unreplacable like black steinways.
Bring me back the rarest  wood to build
The sound I am after.
Wrap my blisters with white hair
from a Mustangs tale.  
Hair wilder then the opus
made from boiling noodles.
Accent my voice with styles
louder then one thousand Mahler Eights.
Show me another way to see Bradens Beauty.

I found a bone inside some blades of grass.
Could it be Ozymydias the poets dead king?
It must of been the knite who slayed his terror.
I was alone when his steel blade took my life.
Helplessly I heard the grave become my works.
The stone I read out loud around overgrown weeds
Soon opened up, and I tried to run away.
The yellow eyes like a demons eyes,  met my face.
the darkness in his corpse began surounding every grave.
My breath was cold, my shaking body froze as if he had a gun.
Then he ozymydias began to yell at my dying soul.
"Im ozymydias, read my works, Forget me and I will return".
"Few contempoarys have spoken to me, they who remember me
have my mark".  

My arm became a lake of flames.  
His claws penetrated my skin.
On my arm I saw his name.
In me now is ozymydias
the poets dead king.

I took his bone and ranaway,
And at my house I threw it
In the fire place.  I watched
it burn like a horrible book.

My love seaps out like rising chimney smoke.
I fill the air with all my burning logs,
And make the cats and dogs smell like autmn.
will you sustain my never ending flames?
Or do I die with out a chance in hell.
What could I do with out your oxygen.
Id surley burn out and never live again.
Can you decide before I meet my fate.
Its getting cold and Im starting  to burn out.
Why dont you think my purpose isnt strong.
Know this:
It wasnt the fire that kept you warm all winter long.

I never lied to my ex girlfriends.  
They were the cross and I was jesus christ.
They were like wine, red church wine.
Now to them im like a satil loaf of bread.
They turned me into sour wine not viseversa.
I never snuck out to get drunk at the bar.
They were always asleep when I came home.
They were hopelessly in love witm me.
Now im watching the final temptation of christ all alone.
Please forgive me : Agatha, Linda, Zoey, Jesika & tina.
                                    Betty, cindy, linda & edna.
                                     Angie, sandra & pam
                                          & stormy & Bethany
Most of all forgive me for what I dont remember.
I didnt make up anything when I was around the guys.
my exgirlfriends knew
Half of it wasnt true.
But Bill, Tyler, Donald, George, greg,
Tim, and frank.
All know the other half wasnt fake.

The bay sometimes after the rain clears can
Make you smile.Then will you be able to hear my cities cry
To be named the city of destiny.  My city cries out Tacoma Washington
Pierce county area code two five three. My city says you and I are
Irish, russian, polish,and spanish.
My city says you and i are  homosexual,
bisexual, transexual, lesbian, straight and perhaps homeless.  

My city often lets
You watch us wear our costumes. our rain jackets are costumes,
Some are black, some are  white, and some have knitted desighns of children
running home after school gets out.  stitched on their back is a book about what destiny means. English isnt the only language.  In the thick pages my city tells them to rise up against intolerant people, to rise in love and hope that maybe you a stranger to my city understands a few principles my city believes in.  But we arnt strangers because you probably live in my city.  Or I dwell in yours as a proud individual dwells.  If we be strangers then let me take you through my city.  Ill put my arm around your wet shoulder and share my coat with whoever you want to be in our city of destiny.

Apluad malcolms quiet stillness.  
Unrooted like fallen timber, and now
to be a soiled waste of passion.  
Mr.  Flood,
Sneaky Mr.  Flood,
Poured ***** in the urn.
One more drink for lifeless
thoughts.  If it be the way of death.
If it be the way of death.  
was it an ugly truth,  Yes,
And malcolm knew how ugly it was.
All the world like a bag of oranges.  
Carried  in high frutose fashion.
But,
Malcolm has no say to be involved in any
more chancless pursuites.  It was for the best in
his case anyways.